


Here We Stand

by Tigervetky



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead Series - Robert Kirkman & Jay Bonansinga
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigervetky/pseuds/Tigervetky
Summary: This is an AU Bethyl crime drama.  I posted the original years ago on a different site, but I was never truly satisfied with the final product. The story is complete, I've just gone back and reworked a few things that hopefully makes it worth the read.  I will post chapters weekly at the very least.  Kidnapping, original character death, and violence are a part of this story.  The Bethyl will eventually be intended for a mature readership.  Hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 68
Kudos: 85





	1. Worlds Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There will be kidnapping, torture. violence, and mental healthy issues as a part of the crime drama.  
> There are also a few bad words and consensual sexual content.  
> Oh, and lots of Bethyl along with a very happy ending!  
> Just wanted you to know!  
> Enjoy!!

**Chapter 1: Worlds Apart**

Atlanta PD Detectives Daryl Dixon and Rick Grimes surveyed the carnage in the abandoned warehouse. Seven dead. Of those seven, only one stood out, a young blond woman dead amongst the multiple gangbangers. It made no sense. The APD Gang Unit confirmed, four dead Surenos and two dead STK's. Not surprising since gang related violence was on the rise in Southeast Atlanta. It was the pretty blonde, dead in the corner that didn't fit. Red and raised ligature marks marred her wrists and ankles. She wore a sparkly gold cocktail dress and heavy makeup. Black mascara streaks stained her cheeks in tracts. "Cause 'a death," Daryl questioned as he skulked around the body.

"ME's guessin' the bullet caught the heart. Small caliber. Close range. Said he'd let us know if anything changes on autopsy.” Rick watched his partner, silent and intent, knowing he heard every word even though he made no response. "A lot 'a cuts and bruises on her legs and arms."

"Mmmm," was Daryl's only response.

"Hey Dixon! Rick!," Michonne called from the back of the warehouse. Daryl drug his eyes from the young girl’s body and squinted across the wide open space. "Back here!" She motioned for them with a wave.

Rick pocketed his notebook and fell in step with Daryl. "What are you thinkin'," Rick asked as they made their way to Michonne.

"Don't know yet," Daryl scowled, "but that girl was tortured."

“Yep.”

Rick and Daryl met Michonne in front of a black metal door hidden in the back corner of the warehouse. Detective Michonne Shumpert had been with The Violent Crimes unit for six years, longer than any of them. She had seen as much as the next detective, but rarely seemed to let things affect her. She was solid, and Daryl respected her. That’s why the look on her face caused them both to pull up short with concern. "You need to see this," she said, voice thick with warning as she opened the door and allowed the men to pass.

"What the hell?" Rick whispered as he surveyed the scene in front of him. With narrowed eyes, Daryl walked the perimeter of the small, square concrete room. The walls were stained with blood splatter, some patches dark and aged, others still sticky and fresh. The room smelled wet with sweat and something else yet to be identified. There was a drain in the center of the room over which hung a large metal hook on a thick swinging chain. On the far wall, two iron manacles, tethered to the wall, lay hauntingly empty.

"That hook's meant to hold a motor," Daryl mumbled.

"This must be where they kept her," Rick reasoned.

"There's more," Michonne said, her voice muted with disgust.

They crossed the room and followed her into a small storage closet where Michonne's partner, Detective Glenn Rhee stood waiting. There in the small, rectangular space, stainless steel instruments, meticulously kept, hung from a peg board along the wall. The metal tools were immaculate and precisely hung as if they were on display. A narrow work bench housed a sonic instrument cleaner and a stack of shop towels. The four detectives each surveyed the room and its contents trying to make sense of what lay before them. Rick broke the heavy silence. "How in the hell does this fit with what happened out there?"

"Dun know," Daryl answered as he pulled on latex gloves and picked up what appeared to be a surgical instrument of some kind. It was sharp and flat on one end, almost like a flathead screwdriver. His eyes trailed over the array of instruments seeking to understand what it was they were looking at. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

"Look at this," Glenn said from the deepest part of the brightly lit closet. "It looks like a branding tool." He held it out for his fellow detectives to inspect.

Daryl took the iron tool from Glenn and studied the working end. "It’s for stampin’ leather or wood. You can get ‘em custom made anywhere. This one’s been used... but that aint wood or leather," he said as he pulled something from the grooves of the brand and placed it in a plastic bag. He passed the iron to Rick.

"What the hell," Rick intimated again. "What's that design,” he wondered as he spun the small branding iron with the tips of his fingers. "It looks like two ‘C’s’ with a bar through it. Glenn, see if you can find anything associated with this brand.’"

"It’s a moon glyph,” Daryl said matter-of-factly. “Yer holdin’ it upside down.” He knew they were staring at him before he turned to peek at them through the thick fringe of his bangs. "What?" he growled. Rick’s mouth opened and promptly closed without a word. "That glyph means power.”

When nobody said anything, Daryl shrugged and looked away. Daryl rarely spoke, but when he did, he never failed to impress.

Glenn whipped out his phone and started googling moon glyphs. “He’s right. That one means power.” He knew he’d screwed up as soon as the words left his mouth.

If looks could kill, Glenn would have been dead 13 times over from Daryl’s glare alone. “I just said that, dumbass. You doubtin’ my word?”

“No… no, it’s just… well, it’s just odd that a guy like you would know what a moon glyph is. I mean… no disrespect… it’s just…”

“Jus’ what?" Daryl deadpanned. He was enjoying watching Glenn squirm. Playing with him like a cat with a mouse. Glenn was hip and techy and everything Daryl typically had no patience for, but there was something about the kid that Daryl liked. He was a good guy and a hard worker. He cared. And Daryl cared about him. 

Deciding Daryl had had enough fun at young Detective Rhee’s expense, Rick threw him a lifeline. "Glenn, see if you can get a hit on any crimes involving branding. I know it's a long shot but see what you can come up with." Glenn nodded, grateful for the reprieve. He had been with Violent Crimes for less than a year, but in that time, he had more than proven himself capable, especially when it came to digging through electronic databases and files.

Michonne went to meet the crime lab unit. Daryl wanted all of the instruments sent to the forensics lab for inspection and identification. Rick and Daryl headed back to the open warehouse where the bodies of the seven dead were being bagged and tagged. “How did you know that brand was a moon gyph?” Rick asked.

“Glyph,” Daryl corrected. “A moon _glyph_.” He glanced at Rick keeping pace next to him. He knew he could trust him with anything. He loved him like a brother, but it was still hard to talk about anything personal, even to Rick, especially when it involved his beyond dysfunctional family. “When I was a kid, my mom used ta’ draw those symbols on my arms and my back when I went huntin’. She said they were for protection and for becomin’ one with nature and shit. It was easier just ta’ let her do it than to argue ‘bout it.” What he didn’t tell Rick was that he loved it when his mom took the time to set down and draw on him. Her eyes would clear and she would focus on nothing but him when she started to draw. It made her so damn happy to do the one and only thing she could do to try and protect him in her own screwed up way. Draw damn moon glyphs on him for light and power, balance, energy, and hope. Hope was his favorite glyph with its sweeping curve. It was the only one she didn’t draw on his arms or back. She always drew it on his chest, right over his heart, in the same place where he now had it permanently tattooed. 

Rick nodded in understanding and didn’t pursue it any further. A closer inspection of the warehouse yielded no more clues as to what might connect the six dead gangbangers to the pretty blonde in the corner. "I'm gonna' have Michonne and Rhee get started on identifying the girl."

"Mmm," Daryl agreed. "Have ‘em talk to the gang unit too. See if they can find out what's hapnin' between the Surenos and the STK's these days."

On their way out, Glenn and Michonne were deep in discussion on moon glyphs and whether or not Daryl was gonna’ kill Glenn later, much later, when he least expected it. Michonne was doing her best to assure him that Daryl was only yanking his chain when she saw two men in suits flash their badges and cross the police tape. " _Shit_ ," she whispered catching Glenn off guard. "Feds"

Daryl and Rick noticed them too as they entered the warehouse. One stopped to greet and gather information from the APD officer stationed near the front, the other made himself at home in the crime scene. Daryl bristled at the intrusion and shot past Rick, heading straight for the suit. "Daryl... Daryl!" Rick called wearily, recognizing the set in Daryl's jaw. He sighed and rolled his eyes as his friend politely ignored him.

"Somethin' I can help you with?" Daryl growled, feet spread wide in a defensive stance, arms crossed over his chest.

"I doubt it," suit number one articulated as he pushed past Daryl, further into the warehouse.

"Hey!," Daryl snapped and grabbed the guy by his arm spinning him sharply around on his heels.

“Federal Agent, Bud. Hands off,” the Fed retorted with a hard push to Daryl’s chest.

Rick sprinted toward the two men knowing how much Daryl distrusted… no, flat out hated the Feds. He stepped in front of Daryl using his body to back him down. Suit number two, the older of the two men sent his partner flying with a hard push and a forceful reprimand.

"You better keep him on a leash!" Daryl yelled over Rick’s shoulder. Rick had turned his back to Daryl and positioned himself between him and the two men in front of them

Rick rounded on Daryl again and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, walking him back a few steps. “Look at me,” he demanded. Daryl's eyes darted back and forth between Rick and the two agents. When they finally settled on Rick, Rick gave him a hard stare silently warning him to get his shit together. Daryl settled and sucked in a steadying breath. “You good?” 

Daryl nodded, one curt uplift of his chin and then spit for good measure when Rick turned back to talk to the men.

The older of the two agents offered his outstretched hand to Rick and introduced himself. "I'm Special Agent Phillip Blake, Federal Bureau of Investigations. I apologize for my partner's behavior." Rick accepted the man's hand. "You must be Detective Dixon?"

Rick pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "He's Dixon. I'm Detective Grimes." Rick eyed the agent in front of him. He was older than Rick, maybe fifty or better. He wore a thick gold band on his finger and a pleasant enough smile on his face. He was of Mediterranean or Middle Eastern descent, maybe Lebanese, Rick thought, remembering the striking blue and amber eyes, like Blake's, of the Lebanese people from his Marine days in the Middle East.

"Nice to meet you both. I've heard good things about the work you do in the Violent Crimes Unit." Daryl stopped chewing on his thumb and looked at the man in front of him through squinted eyes. "That idiot over there is my partner, Special Agent Zachary Hines. He's a good guy, just a bit hot tempered. I apologize, again." Rick's snorted and gave Agent Blake an understanding nod. More than once he had had to make that same apology on behalf of his partner and best friend.

Ignoring his partner's snort, Daryl stepped up even with Rick. "What the hell business does the FBI have with this case?"

"Detective Dixon, we are only interested in one aspect of your case. The woman."

"What about her?"

"We believe she's part of something bigger than what went down in this warehouse," Agent Blake explained.

"Who is she?"

"We don't know yet, but the MO tracks with a serial the Bureau has been chasing for two years now. He’s just recently become active in Atlanta."

"What MO?" Rick questioned.

"Young, blonde, mid to late twenties, evening dress, heavy makeup, multiple cuts, bruising from the neck down, and a burn under the left ear..."

"How the hell you find out about our vic’ so fast?" Daryl questioned.

"Four months ago, on a bit of a hunch, the Bureau sent out an alert to our office and to the ME's offices in Fulton and DeKalb counties. Anything resembling our criteria, they call."

“A hunch?” Daryl threw back at him.

“More like a highly educated guess,” Agent Hines clarified as he inserted himself into the conversation. 

"How many bodies?" Rick asked, interjecting quickly before Daryl had time to pop off at Hines again.

"Here in Atlanta?" Blake clarified. "If she's one of his, that makes three. But we usually find a body every thirty days, the morning after a full moon. He has a definite pattern. All of the previous victims were reported missing three weeks or so prior to being discovered. He takes his time with them. The cuts are patterned, and the assault is calculated. When he's done, and the girl's dead, he displays the body in a conspicuous place. Out in the open, like next to a bike trail where it can't be missed. Either this girl isn't one of his or she _is_ , and whatever happened here interrupted his plans. If so, we're hoping he got messy and left us some new evidence."

"He kills six women over a six-month period then he disappears," Agent Hines added.

"Full moon aint for another two weeks," Daryl noted.

"If this is one of his, he's early. Only one way to tell, Detectives. Where's the body?"

"She's back there," Rick said and pointed to the rear of the warehouse where a black cadaver bag lay, evidence tag #7 displayed next to it. The agents followed Rick to the body, flanked by Daryl and his inaudible footfalls. Agent Hines knelt down next to the bag and unzipped it, exposing the young woman's face and shoulders. He gently rolled her to the side and brushed her hair away from her neck. A fresh, half dollar sized burn, red and puckered in the shape of a moon glyph, lay angry just below her left ear. It matched the branding iron they found in the storage closet.

Agent Hines looked to the three men standing next to him. "She's one of his."

Rick and Daryl exchanged a pointed look. "There's something you need to see," Rick offered.

Daryl's phone rang as the men fell in step, headed to the concrete room. "It's Rhee," he said and nodded once sending the men with Rick while he stopped to take the call. "Yeah?"

"That power, moon glyph thingy is significant. If that girl is branded, we’re dealing with a serial."

"What else?"

"The five dead guys each have a rap sheet as long as my arm. Known associates are consistent with their tattoos. Not sure what's happening between the two gangs yet, but..."

"Don't matter. Turn 'em over to the gang unit. Got anythin' on the woman?"

"Yeah. Finger print popped. Name’s Melissa Leigh McBride. Twenty-eight. No known connection to either gang. Reported missing six days ago by her roommate. She was a waitress at The Mojito. No criminal record. I have an address for work and home."

"Send 'em to me. Talk to the roommate."

Daryl joined the others in the back room. "Anything?” Rick asked.

“Nah…”

"If it's all the same to you, Detectives, I'd like to send all of this to our lab for prints and DNA. We've never been able to locate his base of operations before. These instruments and that branding iron are a new find. Maybe we'll get lucky." Agent Hines seemed genuinely pleased with the discovery.

"We'll post a unit across the way. Set up surveillance just in case he comes back," Rick directed and grabbed his phone to get started.

"Already got that covered, Detective. We'll take it from here," Agent Hines countered with a smirk.

"The hell you will," Daryl spat stepping into Agent Hines' space.

Agent Blake moved to stand in front of his partner. "We're not taking over, Detectives. I can assure you that we have every intention of working with you on this case.”

“My ass,” Daryl mumbled.

Agent Blake kindly ignored the comment and continued. “Perhaps you can get the case files from the other two Atlanta victims. I'll get you their names. Have those cases re-assigned to Violent Crimes, and we can figure this out together."

"I wanta’ see everything you got so far," Daryl ordered.

"Yes, of course. Our lead profiler will get you everything we have." Agent Blake looked past the two Detectives in front of him and waved another agent forward. Daryl and Rick turned to see who he was communicating with, Daryl clearly irritated that said Agent had quietly snuck up on the two of them. Whatever Agent Blake said next was lost to Daryl, and all Rick heard was Daryl’s quiet " _shit_ " at the sight of her.

Rick couldn't help the smile that washed across his face. "Beth Greene! As I live and breath."

Agent Beth Greene strolled confidently toward them wearing a blue, curve hugging skirt (“ _when the hell did she get curves,” Daryl wondered_ ) and a yellow and blue sleeveless silk shirt. Her hair hung down past her shoulders in long, loose waves that bounced invitingly when she walked. Daryl licked his lips subconsciously and started moving in place in that very Daryl way that made it seem like he was coiled tight and ready to spring. It had been three years since Daryl had last laid eyes on her. Three years since Beth had disappeared from his life. Three years since Daryl ran off the best thing that had ever happened to him. He still dreamed about her, more than he should. Still caught himself thinking about her at the most unexpected times. Rick stepped forward and greeted her with a hug. " _Agent_ Greene, huh?"

"So it would seem," she chuckled.

"You look good, Beth," Rick said with a quick approving nod.

"Thank you," she replied, and a pretty, pink flush decorated her cheeks. She turned towards Daryl and met his eyes straight on. "Hello, Daryl," she said kindly and smiled although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Beth," he nodded and half stepped toward her before awkwardly retreating. He ended up lightly tapping her arm and huffing an inaudible greeting that sounded more like a grunt than a word. Rick watched the amusing exchange behind a pleased smile. He knew his partner had been smitten with then _Officer_ Greene when they all worked together in Intelligence. He was certain too that Daryl’s feelings were reciprocated, but once Beth was gone, his partner never offered a word on what had actually happened between them.

"I assume Agent Blake gave you the rundown on what we're dealin' with?"

"Just the highlights," Rick replied. "He said you could give us the particulars."

"Right. Why don't you gather your team and meet me at the Federal Building first thing tomorrow morning? I'll show you everything we have."

"How long you been workin’ on this?" Rick asked.

"I got the file five months ago. We had evidence that said he might be heading this way."

"So you're based in Atlanta?"

"Yep. Got the Atlanta assignment right out of Quantico. I’ve been back two and a half years or so."

Daryl snorted at that and Beth, ( _Agent Beth Green,_ she quickly reminded herself), pulled up short. "Something you got to say Detective Dixon,” she asked with one finely plucked eyebrow arched clear to her hairline.

Daryl narrowed his eyes and met her glare head on. "That assignment got anythin' to do with your Daddy bein' APD Chief of Police?"

Beth took one big step forward landing just inside Daryl's personal space. "That assignment had nothin' to do with Hershel Greene and everythin' to do with graduating first in my class." If Beth didn't know better, she would have thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross his lips before he cleared his throat and mumbled something about not expecting anything less.

"Agent Greene!" Blake called from the door of the concrete room.

Beth turned back to the detectives. "I'll meet you and your team in the morning. My office."

Rick nodded. "Good to see ya’ Beth," he said sincerely as he backed away and turned to catch up with his partner who was, at present, skulking toward the car.

"She's blossomed into quite the Georgia peach, don't you think?" Rick asked Daryl as he nudged him with his elbow. Daryl stopped and looked at Rick like he had just sprouted horns or something. "Don't give me that look. She's a damn fine lookin’ woman, smart too. And you still like her"

 _Fine_... so damn _fine_. That's the word he'd been chasing in his head. When did Beth Greene start looking so damn _fine_? Daryl jerked the driver side door open to his old Ford F-250 and slid in behind the wheel. "I don't even know her anymore. Haven’t seen her in three years."

"You got something on your chin there, brother." Daryl cut his eyes to the rear-view mirror, and Rick chuckled under his breath. "It's drool, amigo. You still like her."

"The hell's wrong with you?" Daryl snapped.

Rick laughed out loud this time. "Seriously though, you never told me what happened between you two, back in Intelligence."

"That's cause nothin' happened."

"Uhuh. Then why’d you hang dog it for so long after she left?”

"Hang dog it? Dumbass"

"Classic deflection," Rick countered with a knowing grin.

"Man, shut the hell up."

"I will. After you tell me whatever it is you're not tellin’ me."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "You're not gonna' let this go are ya?"

"Negatory."

Daryl let fly a deep, irritated sigh and turned the corner toward the precinct. "She told me she was thinking about leavin'… for Quantico… Wanted to know if I had any reason for her ta' stay."

"I knew it! I knew she had a thing for you."

"Yeah, well, I blew it. Couldn't give her a reason."

"Why not? I thought you liked her."

Daryl mumbled and shrugged, and Rick understood. He had no doubt that Daryl had run down a long mental list of all the reasons why they shouldn't be together and of all the ways he didn't quite measure up.

"Okay, so she's back in your orbit. Maybe you can feel her out... see if she's still got a little spark for ya'," Rick suggested, eyebrows dancing suggestively.

"Or maybe we jus' concentrate on the case," Daryl retorted, effectively ending the discussion.

Inside the precinct, Michonne had little to add from the missing person’s report on one Melissa "Missy" McBride. Rick brought her and Glenn up to speed on what they had learned from the Feds. "Do you really think they'll give us full access," she asked.

"The lead profiler is an old friend of ours. We're supposed to meet at her office tomorrow morning. She said she'd give us everything they have."

"Can we trust her?"

"I think so," Rick replied. "She's Chief Greene's daughter. Good people."

"We can trust her," Daryl declared and that was enough for now.


	2. Hearts Broken in Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Daryl are trying to find common ground, but their history is making it a little difficult. We see a snippet of how they fit into each other's lives back then. The case also moves forward in this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Agent Beth Green paced back and forth in front of the window of her 8th floor office. Seeing Daryl Dixon again, even after all this time, had made for a fitful night’s rest.

" _You are an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigations for Pete's sake. You can do this._ " She drew in a deep, cleansing breath and released it slowly. Her small modicum of control was completely lost when the desk phone pierced the silence. She let out a small squeak in surprise.

"Great. Send them up."

" _Have_ _a_ _little_ _faith, girl._ _You got this,_ " she whispered and headed out the door.

She intercepted Daryl and Rick as they exited the elevator. "Good morning!" she said. Perhaps a bit too loud and cheery she realized when Daryl flinched at her greeting. Rick seemed happy enough to see her, however, when he replied in kind.

"The war room is this way. Where's the rest of your team?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Rhee and Michonne are followin’ up on a lead from yesterday. The warehouse was bein’ rented by an internet wholesale company called Blue Tag Auto Parts. Had the warehouse for two years. Let the lease lapse three months ago when the company went belly up. They're trackin' down an employee list now."

"Good. That fits with somethin’ I found too. Please tell them I said, ‘good work’," Beth said which earned her a less than polite scoff from one Daryl Dixon.

Beth spun on him, nerves already frayed, and took the offensive. "Is there a problem Detective Dixon?"

"No problem, girl. Just wonderin' when you grew into those big britches of yours 's all."

She could feel the flush rising up her neck, and it seemed to carry with it the painful reminder of his rejection three years prior. Beth stepped into his space, toe to toe. "Now you listen to me, Daryl Dixon. I am **not** that same little fangirl patrolman I was when we first met. I saved your ass in more ways than one back then, and you know it. My only mistake was thinking you cared as much as I did. A lot has changed since then, and I'll thank you to remember that you're in **my** house now. Got it?"

Beth willed herself to hold his gaze.

She expected the flash of anger that crossed his features. What she didn't expect was the quiet "Yes ma’am" that followed. 

Well at least Rick had the decency to cover his grin with his fist.

Beth tugged at the bottom of her cardigan and turned her back to the two detectives. She disappeared resolutely down the hall.

Daryl glanced at Rick, hoping to gauge his reaction without getting caught. Not a chance. Rick was staring at him with a bemused smile. 

“Man, shut the hell up,” Daryl gruffed.

Rick raised his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say a word.”

Daryl shook his head and stormed past him. When the two detectives rounded the corner, they found Beth leaning against an open door, waiting. “Welcome to operations,” she said and gestured for them to go on in. 

The set up was state of the art. A brightly lit smartboard sat prominently just inside the glass door. Multiple flat screens adorned the far wall. A large conference room table with several cushioned leather chairs occupied the space between the smartboard and the monitors. Stacks of folders and neatly organized case files littered one end of the massive table. An over-sized, dry erase board on wheels ran parallel with the table. Notes were scrawled across the board in a feminine hand that Daryl recognized.

"Nice set up," Rick commented.

"It is, isn't it," Beth agreed

"What da' ya' know about this case?" Daryl questioned, a little annoyed at the easy banter between his partner and his... Beth.

"Well, best we can tell, this all started a little over two years ago in Northern Pennsylvania. Six women were killed over a six-month period. Same MO," she said as she tossed twelve photographs from the smartboard to the monitors.

There was an identification photo of each girl, autopsy photos and a crime scene photo of that same girl to match. Rick moved closer to the monitors and began absorbing the gruesome story laid out in front of him. Daryl stayed where he was and squinted at the monitors. When they worked together in Intelligence, he had always kept his own copies of crime scene photos to touch and spin and mark as he felt necessary. Daryl was thorough. Observant. Beth remembered watching his hands as they sorted through stacks of photos and files, each move deliberate and focused as always. She remembered contemplating what those strong and meticulous fingers might also be capable of on a more personal level…

" _Focus_ ," she reprimanded herself as she thumbed through a file from one of the piles on the table. Finding what she was looking for, she handed Daryl the same stack of photos currently displayed on the monitors. He took them and mumbled something like unto a thank you, best Beth could tell.

"Local law enforcement could find absolutely no connection between the girls other than the brand under the left ear. There was no trace evidence. No DNA. Nothing. FBI was called in when the second victim turned up, but we came up short on evidence too. Then, the murders just stopped. Until six months later, when the same thing started happening in Roanoke, Virginia. Again, six women over six months, no connections. Then again in Greensboro, North Carolina. You can see," Beth said as she sent a map to the third monitor and drew a nearly straight line from Pennsylvania to Georgia, "he was headed directly for us. The Bureau notified every office between North Carolina and South Florida to let ‘em know he was headed this direction."

"Victims fit the same profile in every state?" Rick asked.

"Yes. Young women, all between twenty-two and thirty, thin, athletic, and blonde. All of them were all well-adjusted. No criminal record. No seedy behavior. Solid friends and family."

"The torture?" Daryl asked without looking up from the photos he had spread on the table in front of him.

"Same pattern on every victim," Beth said and sent a new set of photos to the largest monitor. "He uses a black marker to draw the symbols... wiccan symbols. Then he goes back and traces the lines with a knife. The cuts are uniform in depth, and the placement is even and balanced on the chest, abdomen, back and thighs. He's patient and meticulous, probably considers himself an artist. Best we can tell, he holds them for two weeks or so. Wipes them clean with bleach. Then displays them in an area with heavy foot traffic at the full moon.”

"Damn," Rick whispered under his breath.

"Sexual assault," Daryl grunted, eyes barely visible through the thick fringe of bangs that covered his forehead.

"No. No sexual assault. I don't think he sees them as a sexual being. I think he sees them more as a living canvas, but we can’t rule out ritualistic sacrifice either because of the symbols."

"COD?"

"Suffocation. No facial bruising, so I'm thinking he uses a plastic bag."

Rick drew in a deep breath and tried to find a place for everything Beth just told him. Sometimes this job just sucked. "So, any leads at all?"

"I've modified the working profile they sent me, and I've revisited a few leads and loose ends, but nothing concrete so far. He's extremely organized, to the point of being obsessive / compulsive. He sticks to the pattern. The moon glyph means power. I think part of this is dominance and part of this is for its artistic value. I’m thinking either one perp with, perhaps, multiple personalities or two perps with two different goals. The heavy makeup is almost stereotypical for a bimbo or a cheap bar-bunny… but the artistry of the symbols is mature and controlled. Either way, he or they is driven and if we don't stop him..." she said, voice heavy with concern.

"So that's it?" Daryl questioned, "just a lot of psycho mumbo jumbo? Anything solid?"

Beth turned on him, temper flaring, again, (and damn if he didn't like seeing that flush on her cheeks). She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "As a matter of fact, I did find something," she said, lifting one finely sculpted eyebrow. "I pulled credit card receipts for the Pennsylvania victims, dating back six months before the murders began. One thing popped. They all had their cars serviced at the same quick lube. I got the employee list last week. We now have twenty-four potential suspects."

“So, the warehouse was leased to an auto parts company. Maybe there’s a connection,” Rick said hoping to diffuse some of the tension.

Beth turned her attention back to him. "Yes, could be. I’ll dig deeper and see what I can find. You said your team is workin’ on an employee list, right?"

Beth missed the small smile that lifted the corner of Daryl’s lip. He knew she had good instincts. She was driven. Always eager to learn, almost annoyingly so. Back in the day, she had busted his chops for weeks, bugging him to teach her how to track and how to throw knives. She was always asking questions. Even though he scowled and grunted at her most of the time, she never backed down. Never gave up. She had even managed to coax a small, tight-lipped grin from him on more than one occasion. What else could he do when she flashed that blinding, toothy smile of hers? Damn if he didn't miss that smile.

He was thinking about the first time he had taken her hunting. He offered to let her shoot his crossbow, a thing he had never, ever offered another human being. Her eyes had grown wider than he thought possible as she stood in front of him, blinking rapidly, before the biggest, brightest smile he had ever seen spread across her face. He had wanted to kiss her then more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life. She still took his breath away. He hated how that fact made him defensive when he was around her. Even more gruff and surly than usual. But how the hell else was he gonna' keep her at arms-length. He sure as hell had no plans for fallin' for her again. It had just about killed him when she left the first time.

"Daryl?”

He heard her call his name and got the feeling it wasn't the first time she had tried to get his attention. He sniffed and cleared his throat. She was shoving something at him. A new set of photos.

"Those victims were found in Roanoke, Virginia, no connections. I started runnin’ their credit card receipts last night. Lookin’ for auto repair transactions, oil changes, anything like that." A photo appeared on the monitor. "This is Mary Travis. She had her car worked on at the local Ford dealership. Three of the other victims bought a used Ford from that same dealership. I'm waiting on an employee list. It's the last two victims that I can't connect."

"And the Greensboro victims?" Rick asked.

"Haven't had time to go through their transactions yet."

"Don't you got any help?" Daryl groused.

"Agent Blake is investigating the two new murders, well, three now. Zach is helping him dig."

"That guy’s an ass," Daryl declared.

"You have no idea," Beth agreed, "but he's a good agent and I trust him". The flash of something unreadable in her eyes caused Daryl's hackles to rise.

"What's that look, Daryl Dixon," Beth asked, referring to the scowl he was wearing. 

Not wanting Beth to know the real reason behind his sour expression, he decided to blame it on another concern. "I need to know the bureau's really plannin' on full disclosure 'for we start doin' all the heavy liftin'," he said pointing back and forth between he and his partner.

Beth's fists flew to her hips. "I just told you absolutely everything I know. And as far as the heavy liftin' goes, I haven't seen you so much as lift a finger yet! I've been pourin' over that stack of files for months. Didn't even sleep last night. I do not need you walkin' in here and givin' me nothing but grief, Detective Dixon."

"Hold on, girl, I trust ya’. It's those assholes from the warehouse that I got a problem with."

Beth sighed, and a little of the heat left her voice. "Agent Blake is a good man. I can promise you that his sole objective is to stop this guy. I could see it on his face when the call came through yesterday."

"And the other one?"

"Agent Hines is a jerk, no doubt. But, like I said, he's a good agent. Blake keeps him on a short leash."

Daryl could see the tension rise in her shoulders at having to defend Agent Hines. He wondered again what the story was. He couldn't help but notice too that Beth looked worn down. Her bright blue eyes just a little dimmer than he remembered.

"Get me copies of the financials and those employee lists. I'll call Michonne and Rhee. We'll help you get through ‘em."

He couldn't ignore the heat in his chest when Beth smiled back at him so sweetly in response.

***

By 3:00, Daryl felt like his eyes might cross and stay that way for good out of spite. He was hungry and cranky and feeling pretty damn claustrophobic. Michonne and Glenn had headed out a few hours ago to chase a lead. That left him, Rick, and Beth to sort through all the paperwork themselves. 

"Hey, Beth. Y'all got a cafeteria or somethin’ in this buildin' ?"

"Yeah, there's one downstairs."

"I'm gonna' get a bite. Ya'll want sumn'?

"Bring me a sandwich and Coke. I want to finish this pile," Rick said, nodding at the small stack of papers he had yet to look at.

"Beth?"

"Yeah, I'll come with ya'"

Daryl held the door open and followed Beth into the hall. "I'm gonna' run to the restroom," she said and pointed at a door down the corridor. "The men's is just there if you need it."

Daryl grunted in reply before he turned and headed in that direction. He stopped short when he heard a familiar voice.

"There you are, Princess. Miss me today?"

"Hardly," was Beth's curt reply.

Daryl turned back towards Beth just in time to see Agent Hines meet her in the hall. Beth tried to side-step him, but he blocked her path. “Come on now, darlin’. You know life’s better when I’m around.”

“Can you let me by, please?”

Hines turned sideways and gave Beth just enough room to squeeze past. When he hooked her bicep and bent down to whisper in her ear, Daryl was on him in three long strides. The warning in Beth's eyes was the only thing that kept him from beating Hines’s ass where he stood.

"You gonna' show me where the cafeteria is or not, Greene? ‘M starvin’." He sounded genuinely irritated. Beth was grateful he could still read her subtle cues.

"Lunch date," Hines asked, eyebrow cocked.

"Ain't no damn romance novel," Daryl growled. "Just need food." He backed up a step to let Beth pass and lead the way to the elevators.

When the doors closed, Beth hit the button and turned to face Daryl. "I'm not afraid of him, you know," she said resolutely.

"Didn't think ya’ were."

"Thank you for not startin' something back there. The last thing I need is you fightin' my battles."

"You don't need me to protect ya'. Never did."

"Damn straight. I already kicked his ass once. He knows I'll do it again if I have to."

The smallest smile played at the corner of Daryl's lip. It was all Beth could do not to lean forward and kiss that smile right off his face. His eyes darkened, flitting once to her lips and back to her eyes. Warmth filled her cheeks. She knew she was flushed, but she couldn’t look away. Daryl leaned a little closer, caught in the same spell as Beth when the elevator dinged and sent them skittering apart. Neither of them said a word until they were seated across from each other in a booth by the window.

"Finish yer story."

"What," Beth asked, eyes wide.

"Tell me how you kicked his ass."

"Oh! Right! Um, long story short… We all went out one night after we closed a big case. Hines had a little too much to drink and wouldn't take no for an answer. He showed up at my doorstep and got a little handsy. Tried to force the issue. Lucky for me, he was drunk enough I had no problem puttin’ him on his ass.” 

Daryl didn’t think anything about this story sounded lucky for Beth.

“I used my speed, like you taught me, and twisted him up. I got his hands locked behind him and shoved him off the porch before he even knew what hit him. He's been a tool ever since, but he keeps his hands to himself.”

“Didn’t look that way to me.”

“Nah. He mostly just drops snide little comments my way, but never in front of Blake."

"Sounds like a chicken shit."

"Yep."

"Did you file a report or somethin'?"

"No. Once I kicked his ass, there was no need."

"Son of a bitch better keep it in line."

"Or what? **_You_** gonna' kick his ass this time?"

"Hell no! I'll just hold him down. Let you do the ass kickin' "

Beth giggled at that, and Daryl couldn't help but think that she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was heavy on the case and a little light on the flirting, but we're getting there. Bethyl is on the way, all awkward, slow burn and such. Fun really starts in the next chapter. Thanks for reading! Comments are greatly appreciated.


	3. Sleepless Nights

"That was Detective Dixon," Beth said as she ended her call. "They talked to the auto parts guy that rented the warehouse. He had twelve employees. Still has their addresses, but no client lists. They're on their way to pick it up now."

"Anything new with our latest victim?" Agent Blake asked.

"Nothing yet," Beth answered, her voice heavy with frustration.

"What's wrong, Babe?" Hines asked.

"Don't call me babe," she snapped.

"Oh, come on, Beth. Lighten up."

"Don't call me babe," she said again in a deadly serious tone.

"Sure thing, _darlin’_."

"Knock it off, Zach. You okay, Beth," Blake asked recognizing that, even outside of Zach’s teasing, Beth was not her usual sunshine and roses self.

"He's gonna' be desperate. Our perp, I mean. I'm afraid losing this girl before he was finished with her might send him into a tailspin. There's no tellin' what he might do."

"Good," Hines interjected. "Maybe he'll do something stupid, make a mistake, and we'll nail his ass. Don't worry, Princess. We'll get him."

“I said, ‘knock it off,’ Agent Hines,” Blake reiterated. “I’ll be in my office if anything comes up. I’m going to go over the three Atlanta police reports again. See if I can find anything we might of missed.”

Beth drew in a deep, steadying breath. She hadn't slept much in the last few days. Could feel the walls closing in around her. She needed to get out. Move around. She had been in front of her computer for way too many hours already this week. "I'm gonna' run down a lead. It may not amount to much, but it's all I have right now."

^^^

Beth's stomach was just starting to rumble in protest when her phone rang. She had spent the better part of the day tracking down a hunch. Unable to leave even the tiniest stone unturned. The pop label in the dress that the latest victim wore matched the pop labels from the other two Atlanta victims. The dresses were purchased from a high-end dress shop called _Tres En Vogue_ in northeast Atlanta. Two of the dresses were manufactured, but one was custom, and the sales clerk told her on the phone that the shop kept records for custom orders. Beth tried not to hope too much, but it was her nature. She couldn't help the tingle in her veins from the prospect of a solid lead.

The trail led her to the doorstep of one Katherine McIntosh, wife of Liam McIntosh, shipping mogul. Even though she didn't make it past the foyer. Or the housekeeper. She learned that Mrs. McIntosh regularly donated all of her used dresses to St. Gemma Galgani Hall. There Beth discovered that, while they appreciated all of Mrs. McIntosh's donations, fancy evening dresses didn't exactly fill the needs of their patrons. They typically sent them to a high-end consignment boutique and used the money they got from the dresses as needed. At the consignment store, all hope for a solid lead was lost when the clerk said she remembered a guy coming in and buying eight or ten dresses, all smaller sizes, but he paid in cash. She remembered him only because he kept talking to himself and refused to look at her. She said he was, “pretty creepy,” but outside of that, no solid description. Dark hair, olive skin, and no, no surveillance cameras. Beth was on the verge of frustrated tears when her phone rang. Seeing Daryl’s name on the caller ID made her smile.

"Hey," she said, not quite able to hide the weariness in her voice.

"You a'right?"

"Yeah, I'm good. What's up?"

"I'm goin' for supper. You hungry?"

Beth felt the familiar warmth flood her face and chest. "Yes, definitely, where should I meet ya?"

"LuLu's. Twenty minutes."

"I'll be there," she said, voice already lighter with the invitation.

Daryl smiled when he saw her walking toward him. How could he not when she grinned at him that way? They settled on opposite sides of a booth by the window.

“Long day?”

"A bit, yeah. I thought I had a lead, but it didn't pan out. "

"Tell me."

"I found the shop that sold the dress our vic was wearing. Tracked it to a consignment store. Clerk remembers a creepy guy coming in a couple of months ago and buying a bunch of dresses. That’s it,” she shrugged. “No description."

"Worth a try."

"I suppose."

Beth ordered the large bacon cheeseburger special, fully dressed, fries, and a sweet tea.

“I’ll have the same,” Daryl mumbled. "Damn, girl. I forgot how much you could eat," he teased.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of them. Beth looked out the window at the city as it settled in for the evening. Daryl looked at Beth. Same blue eyes, same beautiful smile, but she wasn't the same Beth. She was better, confident, stronger. She had always been strong, stronger than even she knew, and _good_. He had never known "good people" like Beth. Forced him to consider that there might be more good people left in this world. Beth's eyes flitted back to Daryl and locked with his. The slightest blush tipped his ears, and she smiled. She had no idea what that smile did to him. "How have you been, Daryl?"

He shrugged in answer and mumbled something like "you know."

"No, I don't know," she said patiently, " I haven't seen you in three years."

"Same ol' same ol', I guess."

"How long have you been with Violent Crimes?"

"Me and Rick joined the unit 'bout two years ago."

"Why'd you leave Intelligence?"

Something flashed in Daryl's eyes.

"It's okay,” Beth half apologized. “You don't have to tell me."

"It ain't that. I'm just surprised your Daddy didn't tell ya' 's all."

Beth shook her head. "What happened?"

"You remember Nicholas Traynor? Cocky prick on Vice?”

Beth nodded in recognition.

“'Bout six months after you left, big sting out ‘a Vice went bad. Young cop on Vice got killed. Noah Williams. Turns out Traynor was dirty. Big shake up in the department. They sent Sergeant Morgan over to Vice. Sent Mike Negan to run Intelligence.”

Beth’s nose wrinkled at that. She had heard stories about Negan. Had met him once. Once was enough as far as she was concerned. 

“Yeah,” Daryl said, seeing her reaction.

“Turns out they sent him to Intelligence to bring him down.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“He was dirty. ‘Erbody knew it, just couldn’t get enough on him to make anythin’ stick. Your dad asked me and Rick to work him.”

“Did you get him?”

“Yeah… He brought us into his operation. Nasty shit. We nailed his ass. Evil s’m bitch. Got his whole crew.”

Beth answered with that big, toothy grin Daryl loved most.

Daryl took a long drink of sweet tea. “They disbanded Intelligence after that. Thanks to your dad, me and Rick ended up in Violent Crimes.”

Beth nodded slowly, processing what he had just told her. She hadn't known Noah, but she felt the loss just the same. After graduating from the academy, Beth had been assigned to patrol at the 19th precinct, the same precinct that housed the Intelligence Unit. She had been on the job not quite two years when Sergeant Morgan approached her to help with an undercover op. Intelligence was investigating a string of attacks on women at Westwood College, one of which had ended in the death of a coed. They needed bait. Beth fit the bill.

Beth made her way slowly from the library, through the commons, and on to her car nightly at eleven when the library closed. After three nights of walking alone on campus, the perp finally struck, grabbing Beth from behind and shoving her hard into a big oak tree. Daryl catapulted from his hidden perch with a muffled, " _shit_ ," and sprinted towards her. By the time he reached her, Beth had her attacker stumbling back with an elbow to the stomach and a foot to the groin. Daryl tackled the guy from behind and took him hard to the ground. He looked back over his shoulder, searching for Beth. She was on her feet, swiping at the blood dripping from her nose with the back of her hand. She spit at the grass like she was spittin' dip and ready to fight. He couldn't help the pull at his lip when she stared the perp down as they hauled him away in cuffs.

Beth spent the next two years working in Intelligence with Daryl and his team. Daryl had ignored her in the beginning. He assumed she was only there because her last name was Greene. She was a non-factor as far as he was concerned. But something about her pricked at his insides. She stirred something inside him that he didn’t have a name for. It was easier on him to keep her at arms-length. Except she wouldn’t let him. She was always smiling. She treated him the same way she treated everyone else. Like he had worth. Like he mattered. He soon realized that Beth was as genuine and hopeful as she seemed. She was tough too, tougher than anyone realized. 

Daryl found himself telling Beth things he had never shared with anyone else. She didn’t judge him, and she didn’t feel sorry for him when he mentioned his upbringing. They started spending time together outside of work. He still wasn’t sure how that happened. He had taken her hunting. Taught her how to track, how to survive in the wilderness. She had taught him to trust. Filled him with hope.

Things between them were good… really, really good. That little buzz of electricity that he had always felt when she was near became more of a power surge especially when she touched him. And Beth had definitely made touching him a habit, First a nudge to the shoulder then a tap to his forearm and eventually a hand tucked under his bicep when they were walking together. She had even brushed his hair out of his eyes more than once.

Daryl was just starting to consider that his heart wanted more when Beth had announced her acceptance to Quantico. He and Beth had talked about her desire to work with the FBI, and it didn't surprise him in the least when she was accepted. It just made him realize that she was made for so much more than this, than him. Soon after her announcement, things started to shift between them.

One night, a scant three weeks before she was set to head to Virginia, Daryl and Beth took off on his motorcycle, headed to no place in particular, as they tended to do in those days. Forty miles south of the city, Daryl saw a wooden sign for a public dock. He took the dirt road on a whim and brought his bike to a stop at the edge of the Chattahoochee River. Beth immediately shed her converse sneaks and socks and dipped her toes in the water. Daryl sidled up bedside her, hands tucked in his pockets. They found themselves standing in a natural alcove where the water sat almost still, and the view of the star-studded Georgia sky seemed to open up just for them. Beth turned to face him, inching closer so as not to spook him. She used her long delicate fingers, first one hand and then the other, to tentatively brush the hair back from his brow.

"Now I can see your pretty blue eyes," she said as she leaned into him, smile so bright it threatened to burn Daryl to the ground.

Daryl’s heart pounded in his chest, and his hands moved to her hips without his permission. Never in his life had he wanted something or someone so badly. Beth slowly rose to her toes as her eyes fluttered closed, and lightly brushed her lips against his. Fire ignited in his veins as he stood stock still unable to process the fact that maybe Beth wanted him just as much as he wanted her. When she started to pull away, instinct had Daryl hauling her flush against him and angling his head to better taste her lips. Beth drug her hands through his hair and pressed into him. Beth’s soft moan ignited something in him that he didn’t know existed. She tasted like sweet tea and peaches, and he knew he would taste her on his lips until his dying day.

When their lungs demanded air, Beth rocked back on her heels and locked her hands behind his neck. "You're gonna' miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."

"Daryl?"

"Mmhm," he said, pulling his mind from the past to focus on the Beth sitting across from him in the booth.

"Where'd you go?"

Daryl shook his head and muttered something unintelligible before quickly scanning the diner for their waitress. Grabbing her attention, he motioned to her for a refill.

**^^^**

He watched from his car as they came and went. Sweat pooling in the deep creases of his forehead. He swiped at his brow and buried the heal of his hand in his right eye. The pounding over that eye was relentless. How was anyone supposed to think under so much pressure? He gripped the steering wheel, color draining from his knuckles as he begged the voices for relief.

Watching... Waiting... Waiting... Watching... Too short... Too big... Too loud... Too... Too...

He leaned forward, rested his forehead on the steering wheel, and cried out in agony. He covered his mouth with both hands and screamed again. Rocking back and forth, he felt like he might explode. He ran his hands through his hair and pulled it hard at the crown, squeezing his eyes tight enough to see stars.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he whined. _How could he have lost her_?

Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Control. Just like he had been taught. He opened his eyes and focused on the crowd milling around outside the row of bars, dance clubs, and hang outs. That's when he saw them. Surely it was a gift, a sign that he was forgiven. They were perfect, and they were together. He had never taken two at once, but what choice did he have? And how hard could it be? They never fought. They somehow understood that the sacrifice, their sacrifice and his, was necessary, an honor really. After all, forgiveness isn't free, and sacrifice is always required. Without penance, there can be no atonement. Without atonement, there is no peace.

He reached for his tackle box, loaded two syringes, and tucked one into each jacket pocket. With tears streaming down his face, he exited the car resolved and ready to complete the task at hand. He moved resolutely up the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets. It was times like this that he was grateful the world never paid attention to him. He was invisible, as always. 

The pain over his right eye threatened to take him down. It would get better. Once he had them in his possession, the pain would go away, like always. One of them slipped on the slick sidewalk. They both giggled, holding on to each other as the one removed her stilettos. Their laughter pierced his soul. He gagged as a wave of nausea brought him to his knees. They heard him and glanced back, laughing even louder. Laughing at him.

He felt himself fading. “ _No, no, no! Let me do it! I can do it!”_

Rage roared in his gut, calming the nausea, twisting him into something else. It forced him to his feet. Surging forward, sure footed and gaining speed, he closed in on his prey. He slammed the first one, face first, into the brick building as they rounded the corner toward the darkened parking lot. Her head hit the wall hard with a loud crack, and she crumpled to the ground. " _Damn it!_ " he chastised himself, " _not the face. Never the face."_

He grabbed the second girl from behind, his arm snaking around her neck as he deftly removed the syringe from his pocket and slid the needle into her neck at her hairline. Her grip on his arm loosened and her hands slipped limply to her sides. He buried his face in her hair and drew in a long whiff. 

Movement to his right caught his attention. The first girl was on her feet, blood spewing from a deep laceration across her forehead. Her eyes were wild as she faced him, barefooted and trapped. Somehow, she had managed to hold on to her shoes which she now gripped fiercely, one in each hand. He rushed her, shoving her back against the wall, holding her there with his forearm as he fumbled for the second syringe. He was unaccustomed to using his left hand to complete his task. The fumbling afforded her the precious few seconds she needed to bury the heel of her stiletto in his ear.

He grabbed his head and sank to his knees, vision blurring. The constant ache that plagued his eye disappeared behind white hot stabs of pain. Falling forward to his hands and knees, he tasted iron as blood ran from his ear, across his cheek, and into his mouth. He knew she was gone without even looking, knew she was likely seeking help from those who threatened to destroy the mission. In shame, he crawled forward toward the motionless heap on the ground in front of him and pulled her over his shoulder. As small as she was, it was still a struggle to stand. Stumbling forward, he disappeared into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Too confusing splitting the chapter between B&D and the bad guy? Too abrupt?   
> The rest of this story is sort of a story within a story. From here on out, we will see Beth and Daryl's history unfold in flashbacks of sorts. Present day, we will see them navigating all kinds of feels. Then there is the crime story aspect. Hope is all comes together as a good read. Reminder... this fic is already completed. Just doing some HEAVY editing. Thanks again for reading! Comments and criticism are much appreciated!


	4. Losing Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hated leaving on a "creepy guy note". This chapter is all Beth and Daryl (with a smidge of Abraham Ford, just for fun).

Beth slapped at her phone. It was way too early for any kind of good news. "Greene," she whined, voice thick with sleep.

"Wake up, girl. Might have somethin'"

"What time is it?"

"Quarter to five. Patrolman out of the 15th picked up a girl last night. Said she and her friend were attacked. Perp got away with one of 'em."

"Address?"

Beth padded to the shower, noting how dark it was outside. She was normally an early riser, but last night she had not slept well at all. Again. Between worrying over this case and picking apart her dinner conversation with Daryl, peaceful sleep had been near on impossible.

Beth thought about her first dinner / breakfast with Daryl. After that first op with Intelligence, Sargent Morgan had insisted that Beth go to the hospital to have the laceration over her eye checked out. _“Concussion protocol, Greene. You hit that tree with force.”_ She had wanted to stay to process the perp, but Morgan wouldn't have it.

Much to her surprise, Daryl had been the one to volunteer to take her to the ER. Eight butterfly stitches, one head CT, and several hours later, Daryl escorted her from the hospital to his old Ford pickup. "You hungry," he asked as he held the passenger door open for her.

The 4am Waffle Hut crowd was scant, but the coffee was hot, and she was there with Daryl. Surly Daryl who did something to her insides every time he looked at her. You would hear no complaints from Beth. She smiled under the shower spray remembering how Daryl had cut his eyes at her when she ordered a huge hearty breakfast. She couldn't see his eyes through that fringe of too long bangs that he wore so well, but she could feel them. "Damn, girl. Don't know where you gonna' put all that food," he mumbled, making her giggle and blush.

It was there, at their impromptu breakfast, where they shared their first sunrise. It was also there that she learned just how much Daryl liked to hunt and fish, not so much by what he said, but more how he said it. Daryl was quiet but animated, always moving, as if something was boiling just under the surface. He used his shoulders, his hands, and his eyes instead of words to communicate, and Beth found it fascinating. She was inexplicably drawn to him, almost hyperaware when she was with him, so much so, that as their relationship grew, words became unnecessary.

When Daryl walked Beth to her door at a little before seven that morning, neither one questioned her silent invitation. Daryl locked the dead bolt behind him and left his boots on the rug. Beth continued on to her bedroom leaving Daryl flopped on the couch. The first time he woke her, he gently nudged her shoulder, waking her after two hours of sleep. Just like the ER doctor had instructed. She opened her eyes and mumbled a quick, "Thank you, I'm good."

The second time Daryl woke her, she asked him to stay. "Don't make sense you waking up and walking all the way in here every two hours."

"It ain't that far," he said with a shrug.

Beth reached out and took hold of his wrist, gently tugging him toward her. Had he wanted to resist, he could have easily done so, but he didn't. He sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed with his back to Beth. She pulled herself from her cocoon of blankets, wincing only a little at the sharp pain behind her eyes and grabbed the extra quilt from the foot of the bed. He turned his head toward the movement but kept his chin tucked to his chest, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"You can sleep on top of the covers," she said matter-of-factly as she gently placed the quilt down next to him. Daryl battled his better judgement and finally gave in to his heart. In one swift move, he was on his back, one arm slung over his eyes, the other stiff at his side. Beth lowered herself to the bed next to him and felt him tense.

Undaunted, she reached for him again, this time wrapping her arm around his bicep, and pressing her forehead lightly against his shoulder. She waited patiently for him to relax. He finally did, moments later, on a deep sigh.

The third time Daryl woke her, she opened her eyes to find him lying on his side, facing her. One hand busy combing through her hair, the other tucked under the side of his face as if he had slept in that very spot his entire life. Daryl's hand froze when his eyes landed on hers. Beth gave him a soft, reassuring smile, one that made it all the way to her eyes before she closed them again and drifted back to sleep.

The last time he woke her, it was with a soft kiss to the top of her head and a barely audible goodbye. So it had gone with them. Slow, steady, and sure. At least it had up until Beth had been accepted to Quantico. After that, Daryl just seemed to disappear.

Beth parked her red Jeep Wrangler next to Daryl's truck near the crime scene tape. She spotted Daryl and Rick talking with a monster of a man who appeared to be laying out the details of the scene before them. Daryl squinted at Beth from across the parking lot. He watched as she gathered her hair against the wind and twisted it up into a messy knot on the top of her head. He remembered the first time he saw her. It was in the near empty parking lot of the precinct at shift change. She had her head under the hood of her patrol car and her ass up in the air. She was so far up under the hood, her feet were off the ground. She hadn't heard his quiet footfalls as he approached the car. "Want some help?"

"Ow!" she yelped when her head met with the hood. "Don't you know better than to sneak up on an armed police officer," she snapped.

Daryl stood amused in front of her, watching her rub the top of her head. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, the little braid that ran through it, a testament to her age. Even under the bulk of the Kevlar, he could see how slight she was.

"You part of the junior ride along program or somethin’, girl?" he asked only half joking.

The irritated stink eye she shot him had him fighting back a grin.

"You gonna' help me or not, smart ass?" That did make hm smile in spite of his better judgement.

"Completely dead?" he asked as he rolled up his sleeves and shoved them up and over his elbows, "or just not wantin' to turn over?"

"Completely dead," she said, taking one step back.

Daryl dove under the hood and started wiggling this and poking at that. His stomach took a tiny little drop when Beth's face appeared next to his, alarmingly close. "What do ya' think," she asked with impossibly wide eyes.

It wasn't the last time he pondered the depth of those baby blues. The way he figured it, a man could get lost and die happy in eyes like that. She blinked twice, waiting for an answer, before Daryl snapped out of the spell she cast and promptly knocked his head on the hood too. Space. He needed to put a little space between the two of them. Too hard to think with her that close. "Either the alternator or the battery. I'll give it a jump and you can take it to the garage."

Daryl pulled his old pick up around and did just that, jolting the battery back to life. When he lowered the hood, Beth was standing next to him again. "Thanks."

"Mhmm."

"What's your name," she asked kindly.

"Dixon."

"I'm Greene," she said sticking her hand out for him to shake. "Thanks for the help, _Mr. Dixon."_

"Anytime, _Greene_ ," he said as he spun away and headed for his truck.

He found himself watching for her, catching glimpses here and there of a long, blonde ponytail or big, blue eyes. He knew she had to be Chief Greene's daughter, entitled and spoiled was his best guess, but something about her intrigued him.

He was glad for the distance. His gut told him that being near her would complicate his life in a way he wasn't sure he was ready for. Then Morgan asked to help with that damn undercover op. He had said his peace, right there in front of her, making it perfectly clear that he didn't care whose daughter she was, she was just gonna' get herself killed.

"You don't know that," she said calmly from across the room. He turned to look at her along with everyone else on the Intelligence team. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you don't belong in this unit," he snapped, knowing he was being an ass, but not really caring. Thinking about seeing her in harm’s way just set his teeth on edge.

"Not your call," she fired back.

"Maybe not, but I guaran-damn-tee ya', I'll be the one savin' your ass when this all goes to shit."

"How do you know I won't be the one savin' _your_ ass, Detective Dixon!" she yelled having finally lost her cool.

If he hadn't been so riled up, he would have laughed out loud at that. As it was, Sargent Morgan stepped in before things got too out of hand. He instructed Rick to bring Beth up to speed on the particulars of the op. He informed Daryl that he and Beth would be reviewing hand to hand fighting techniques, warning them not to kill each other in the process. He called it "an exercise in building trust."

Daryl called it "bullshit."

As it turned out, Beth was quick on her feet and a whole lot stronger than she looked. She met him blow for blow and grunt for grumble. Daryl taught her how to stay low and use her opponent's weight to her advantage. She asked him how he could possibly know what it was like to fight someone twice his size, and he told her about the fights that his brother drug him into when he was just a kid.

Slowly but surely, Beth's good nature wore him down. Daryl opened up more to Beth in the two days they spent training and talking than he had ever opened up to anyone. He was all hard lines and grump to her soft curves and hope. Once she cracked his walls and her light ebbed its way in between those cracks, it was like he couldn't get enough.

"Morning," she said, snatching Daryl from his memories.

Rick greeted her in kind and introduced the big man with the striking orange flat top and matching goatee. "Beth, this is Detective Abraham Ford out of the 15th. Abe, this is Agent Beth Greene with the Bureau."

Abe extended his hand in greeting. "Agent Greene."

Beth took his hand, marveling at how hers completely disappeared beneath his. "Pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for letting us look around your crime scene."

One swift nod from Detective Ford and they were moving toward the side of the building where the attack had taken place.

Beth pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "You said he used a syringe?"

"That's correct, m'am. There isn't much physical evidence, but we did get this," Detective Ford said as he knelt down in front of her. A plastic evidence bag with a 3ml syringe inside of it lay tagged on the ground. Beth's heart sped up, reacting to the potential information that clear plastic bag contained. "There's a few drops of blood over there," he said pointing over his shoulder toward the brick wall, "but the crime scene itself is pretty contaminated with foot traffic. One of my guys took the girl's statement at the hospital. She gave him a decent description. We're gonna' get a sketch artist with her just as soon as the doctor gives us the okay."

Beth listened as Detective Ford gave her the second-hand account of the attack. She looked at the wall where the blood, most likely from their victim, was splattered. Everything around her faded as she tried to visualize the attack in her mind's eye.

She thought about the man who had done this. Could it be their guy? Two women at once was a bold move, but it made sense. He would be desperate.

A cold chill ran down her spine, putting her mind and body on high alert. She whipped her head sharply from the crime scene as if someone had called her name. Without a word, she took off across the parking lot toward the street, shedding her latex gloves and increasing her speed from a trot to a full-on sprint. The faded black Taurus pulled slowly from its parked position to the middle of the road. Beth skidded to a stop, a hundred yards in front of the car, shielding her eyes from the rising sun. Without warning, the engine revved and the tires squealed, smoke rising from beneath them. The black Taurus lurched forward, finding its grip on the pavement, and sped toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, Beth saw Daryl leap onto the hood of a nearby car and slide across, landing on his feet in one deft move. She heard her name as it tore from his lips. A desperate growl in her ears. The Taurus came to a screeching halt not ten feet in front of her. Daryl continued his charge as the car lunged forward again, making a sudden U-turn, sending smoke and rock flying her way. Beth instinctively turned, shielding her face with the back of her hands and squatting low to brace for impact. Daryl slid to a stop next to her still calling her name. He hauled her up, hands flying to her face, turning her head this way and that to assess the damage. Beth swatted at his arms and grabbed two fist fulls of his shirt. "It's him!" she screamed.

"You hurt?"

Beth frowned when his voice cracked. There was no time to worry about _her_. She needed him to listen, to understand. "Daryl!," she cried, "That was him. He was watching!"

"I believe you! But, first I got to know you're a'right."

“I’m fine!” she screamed in frustration.

Daryl turned his head and barked at Rick. "That's our guy. Call it in and see if APD can grab him."

“Mother dick! What the hell was that about?” Agent Ford had slid to a stop next to Rick. He was as confused as the rest of them as to what had just transpired.

“Get your guys after him, Ford,” Daryl commanded just as two patrol cars shot past him.

“I’ll bet ‘cha two short and curlies my men come back with your perp on a stick. Hot damn, I love a good pursuit.”

Daryl turned back to Beth. She was staring down the road where the Taurus had disappeared. "Damn it!" she screamed to no one in particular. Daryl saw the anger on her face as she paced in front of him. "That was him. I should have known he'd be here. I should have _expected_ him to be here." She pulled up short, eyes going wide. "We need to make sure the girl... the one that got away... We need to get her into protective custody. He'll want her back. He may get information from her friend... the one he took. We have to keep her safe."

"I'm on it," Detective Ford said as he stepped away to make it happen.

Beth ran her hands through her hair trying to regain some composure. She glanced at Daryl and froze when she saw the look on his face. She knew that look. She had worn that same look the night Daryl had been shot all those years ago.

"You scared the shit out ‘a me, Beth." And just like that, anger replaced fear, and he was ready to fight. "What the hell were you thinkin'?"

"I don't know... I was looking at the crime scene, and I got a feelin', you know? I just... I knew I was bein' watched. I turned around, and I saw the car. I knew it was him. I can't explain it, Daryl. I just knew it was him."

Daryl watched her hands as they flew wildly in the air coming to rest, palms down, on the top of her head. She blew out a frustrated breath and dropped her hands to her sides. Daryl reached for her, surprising them both, and tucked her into his chest. Warning bells were blaring in her head. She knew this was a bad idea. Very bad. But she was too tired, too weak to fight it. She would allow herself this one fleeting moment of weakness. This one moment to forget the promise she had made to herself three years ago. The promise to let Daryl Dixon go. What Beth could never have guessed was just how much Daryl needed her in his arms right then too, no matter the consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments?


	5. I'm Reaching For You

She woke on a dusty mattress, hands bound with duct tape in front of her, feet bound at her ankles. The tape over her mouth made it nearly impossible to breath. Bile rose in her throat as the gravity of her situation settled like a boulder in her gut. The mattress was on the floor against the wall, giving her an unobstructed view under the bed in front of her, through the open door, and down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. She rolled onto her back and found a single window behind her. Spray painted black save one small spot in the corner, just big enough to see through with one eye. The ceiling was high and unfinished over pipes that ran the length of the room. The only light came from a single dusty bulb hanging in the center, over the bed. With effort, she rocked herself up onto her knees and searched the room for something, anything, that might help her escape. She fell back to her heels with a muffled scream when she saw him perched on the bed, studying her. A predatory grin spread slowly across his face. "I've been watching you sleep."

Terror washed over her. Something deep inside of him winced to. That part didn't want to hurt her. Why couldn't she see that? He didn't want to hurt any of them. He thought about Andrea and her long, honey silk hair. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he inhaled deeply. Andrea smelled like cotton and lavender, so clean and soothing. She was perfect, and he had loved her more than life itself. Right up until the moment she had betrayed him. Loved her, even then, if he was being honest. But that's when other parts of him awakened. Angry, domineering, savage parts that clawed their way to the top. 

For six glorious months he had felt safe, complete, content, and so very happy. She had been so kind to him, always careful to make him feel special, to make him feel appreciated. It's how he knew, without a doubt, that she loved him too. He had watched her with her friends walking back and forth to class, throwing a frisbee around in the quad, eating at Remo's on spaghetti night each week. He understood why she couldn't tell them, why she didn't want to flaunt what they shared in front of those other girls. He was content to see her smiling at him from across the cafeteria, to know that she was leaning against the same tree, reading on the other side. Their relationship transcended what any simple mind or heart could comprehend. She had come to him for help, had sought him out because of his love for numbers. And, oh, how the numbers would spring to life when he was with her. Twice weekly they were brought together by the numbers. Twice weekly they didn't have to hide. It was the only thing that kept him going.

As always, thoughts of Andrea swung back around to betrayal. How could she hurt him like that? How could she throw everything they had away as if none of it had meant anything? "STUPID, STUPID GIRL!" he screamed, and beat his fist against his head. When he could focus again, he saw her there in front of him, tucked into the corner of the wall, tears streaming down her face. He talked himself down. Cleared his throat before speaking. His face softened. He smiled at her sweetly. "You must be thirsty after such a long sleep. I'll get you some water, and then we can talk."

**^^^**

Amy Holden sat stock straight on the couch, clutching a pillow securely to her chest. She stared intently at a spot on the wall across from her. She had felt so unbelievably exhausted when they had reached the safe house, but the thought of closing her eyes in the dark brought on a fresh wave of nausea. Every time her eyes shut, she saw his wild, amber eyes go wide with fury when she buried the heal of her shoe in his ear. From somewhere in the distance, she heard her name. A soft, melodic voice was calling her back before she slipped into the waking nightmare once again.

"Amy?"

The young woman's eyes fluttered, but she continued to stare into oblivion.

"Amy," Beth tried again, this time squatting in front of her, forcing Amy to focus.

"Amy, I'm Beth. I work for the FBI. This is my friend, Daryl Dixon. He's a detective with the Atlanta Police Department." Amy's eyes cut briefly to Daryl. "We want to find the man that did this to you. We want to get your friend back."

"Her name is Sophia, Sophia Peletier. She's my best friend," Amy said, voice full of anguish, lip quivering.

"You were so brave, fighting back the way you did," Beth said as she settled onto the couch next to her.

"I should have stayed with Sophia," the young woman whispered, her voice thick with tears.

"No," Beth gently argued. "Goin' for help was the absolute right thing to do. If you had stayed with Sophia, you'd both be gone, and we'd have no way of findin' either one of you."

Amy lifted her eyes to Beth. "You have to find her... Please find her," she pleaded.

"Amy, you gave the police a great description of the man that attacked you. That's gonna' help us find him and Sophia. I just need to ask you a few more questions, if you're up for it?"

Amy nodded her consent.

"You said that he grabbed Sophia from behind?"

"Yes," she said and drew in a deep, ragged breath. "He threw me against the wall, and I sort of slid to the ground. When I looked up, he was behind her with his arm around her neck. He had her pinned against the wall."

"Amy, could you show me," Beth asked in earnest. 

Amy flinched, reluctant to relive the attack in such physical detail, but willing to do whatever she had to to help find her friend. She and Beth stood together. "My vision was a little blurry, but I'm pretty sure he had her like this," she said. She lifted her left arm and pretended to hold it tightly around an invisible victim.

"Daryl... Could you," Beth asked, motioning for him to stand behind her. He stepped hesitantly toward her and wrapped his left arm around Beth's neck. "Like this," Beth asked.

Amy studied the two of them in front of her. A curious look crossed her face. "No, not exactly... He," she paused and reached for Daryl's hand. "He had his fingers out straight like this," she said and placed the back of Daryl's open hand against Beth's cheek. She then angled Beth's head to the left. "He used his hand to bend her head like this. I remember thinking it looked like he might bite her. You know, like a vampire? Then I saw the needle. He… he had a syringe in his pocket… in his jacket pocket. He jammed it in her neck."

Daryl relaxed his hold on Beth, but he didn't step back. He felt an overwhelming need to stay near her, to keep her safe. The physical similarities between Beth and Amy were undeniable, and it made his stomach turn.

"She just… she just went limp in his arms… It was so fast," Amy whispered. She looked like she was ready to collapse.

"Here," Beth said, taking Amy gently by the shoulders and guiding her back to the couch, "just a few more questions, okay? Do you remember what happened next?"

She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. "He came after me… head on, and he… he shoved me against the wall. He had… crazy eyes. I've never seen eyes like that before. He put his arm across my neck… his forearm, and he… um, he started digging in his pocket. I assume he was going for another syringe? That's when I hit him with my shoe. When he fell, I ran for help."

Daryl was impressed by her resolve. Amy was shaking from head to toe, but she pushed through, facing her nightmare, doing all she could to try and help her friend.

"You said he had crazy eyes. Were they bloodshot like he'd been drinkin' or..."

"No," Amy interrupted. "No... I mean yes… yes, they were bloodshot and puffy like he'd been cryin' or something, but it was the color that was crazy. His pupils were huge, dilated, but around his pupils, his eyes were almost yellow, like a wolf's. It was the way they reflected the light, I guess… I don't know… I just remember how cold they were."

Beth nodded, "Thank you, Amy. Here's my card if you think of anything, or if you just need to talk, okay?"

Amy took the card with a trembling hand and pulled the pillow back into her lap. Beth motioned to one of the officers charged with protecting Amy at the safe house. Daryl watched as she left orders and instructions for the protection detail to follow. 

"Let's go see Eugene, see if he has any idea what our guy may be loading his syringes with."

"Yes, m'am," Daryl said with a smirk.

Beth stopped short and glared at him over the top of the jeep, "What?"

Daryl just mumbled and shrugged.

"You got somethin' to say, Detective Dixon, just say it," she said with her hands on her hips and her eyebrow arched.

"You look good in charge 's all," he said before slipping into the passenger's seat.

Beth couldn't help the huge smile that spread across her face.

**^^^**

"Hey, Eugene," Beth said to the top of Eugene's head.

"Ah, hello, my friend Beth Greene," he answered without looking up from a tray covered with insects. Each one pinned, labeled, and lined up in a row.

Daryl squinted, looking from the tray to Eugene and back to the tray. "The hell you doin', Eugene?"

"Oh, Detective Dixon," he said as he looked at the two of them from behind his magnifying visor. The two magnifying glasses, one over each of Eugene's eyes, made them look like they were twelve sizes too big for his head. "I did not realize that Agent Greene was not alone. These particular specimens are the larvae from the insect known as _Chrysomya megacephala._ They are quite beautiful, are they not?"

"The blowfly," Beth said, quite pleased with herself for remembering.

"Yes, the blowfly. They indicate that Mr. Melvin Pritchard there," he said pointing to a body lying on the opposite side of a glass window, "expired approximately three days ago and was left undiscovered until the neighbor's canine, a Mister Whiskers, found him while on his morning walk." Eugene blinked twice behind the magnifying glasses giving him the appearance of an oversized blowfly.

Beth giggled and reached for Eugene's headpiece. "These things make you look a bit like a fly, Euge. I'm afraid you're gonna' sprout wings and fly away like that fella' in that movie you made me watch."

"Ah, you are referring to 'The Fly' of course. The one we watched was a remake of the 1958 classic of the same title. I can assure you that, while quantum physics theorizes that matter can, indeed, be transferred through space and time, a telepod such as Dr. Brundle's does, in fact, not exist. There are significant theoretical holes in its design. It is also true that the science of DNA hybrid technology is such that metaphysical transport and DNA cross match would likely leave both the human and the insect immediately and cataclysmically in permanent disarray. In other words, my friend Beth Greene, I will not be sprouting wings and flying away." Eugene finished with his trademark, puckered pout firmly in place.

Daryl scowled when Beth giggled again. The only words he heard were, "the movie you made me watch" and "my friend, Beth Greene." Since when did these two start spending time together? Daryl started fidgeting, anxious to get Beth and get out of Dr. Eugene Porter's morgue.

"Eugene," Beth began sweetly, "a girl was abducted in the night club district last night. Her friend saw it happen. She said he injected our victim in the neck muscle. Said the effect was immediate. Any idea what might have been in that syringe?"

"Hmmm. My best guess would be an injectable anesthetic. Most likely a dissociative anesthetic such as Ketamine or Tiletamine. Delivery in the muscle, at a high enough dose, would cause the body to go immediately limp."

"How much would it take for someone my size," Beth asked.

Daryl flinched at the thought.

"2cc's would be enough for someone his size," Eugene said, nodding toward Daryl.

"Ketamine," Daryl said. "You mean Special K. The date rape drug. That's a pill or a powder. Usually gets dropped in a drink."

"You are correct, Detective Dixon. There is, however, an injectable form used in pediatric medicine as an anesthetic induction agent. The same form is used more commonly in veterinary medicine. I believe there is a large animal concentration and a small animal concentration."

"Veterinary Medicine," Beth wondered out loud. "Thanks, Eugene," she said and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "We gotta' scoot, but I'll see you tomorrow night, okay?"

"Yes, tomorrow night. Good day to you Beth Greene," he said with a nod. "Good day, Detective Dixon."

"Mmmmm," Daryl grumbled, scowl firmly in place. He was quiet on the way out, not speaking until they reached her Jeep. "What's tomorra' night?"

"Tomorrow night?" Beth asked

"Eugene said he'd see ya' tomorra' night."

"Oh," she grinned. "It's movie night. Once or twice a month, a few of us get together at Eugene's and watch a movie, usually an old SciFi. Eugene makes the most amazing snacks. They all have names that I can't pronounce, and I don't ask what's in 'em, but they're delicious. It's fun."

"You go by yourself?"

"Usually... Why, do you want to come with me," she asked with a grin. "I think we're watching 'Aliens' tomorrow night. Best movie ever by the way."

When Daryl didn't say anything, Beth glanced his way and caught him watching her with an unreadable expression.

"What?"

Daryl shook his head

"Just say what's on your mind," she said lightly to encourage him to do just that.

"You and Porter hook-up after you got back to town?"

"We didn't 'hook-up', Daryl. I ran into him at the morgue when I was working my first case for the bureau. It was movie night, and he asked me to come. It was good to see an old friend, you know?"

Daryl sat quietly for a minute, glad that Beth was driving and couldn't see him struggling with what he wanted to say. "Coulda' called me," he finally mumbled,

"And say what, exactly? Hey Daryl, It's Beth. I know you told me there was no reason for me to stay, but..." Beth drew in a breath to calm her temper. "I may have been the one to walk away, Daryl, but you're the one that left. I still don't know why."

"Beth," he whispered

She shook her head. "I can't do this right now. Me and you... It's too important, and I've got too much on my brain with this case," she said as she pulled to a stop in front of the precinct. "I'm gonna' look for B&E's involving veterinary hospitals. I'll start in and around the time of the first murders. It's a long shot, but who knows, we might get lucky. Goodness knows we're due a little luck."

Daryl nodded and swallowed the rest of what he had intended to say. "I'll talk to Michonne. See if she has anything on those names you sent." Beth nodded hating the awkward silence that fell between them. Daryl opened the car door but paused before getting out. "Call ya' later?"

Beth smiled and nodded, but it didn't reach her eyes. Daryl's heart sank. He knew he had screwed up when he let Beth walk out of his life three years earlier. He should have told her then how he felt about her. Should have given her a reason to come back to Atlanta instead of pushing her away just because he was too scared to do anything else. He'd be damned if he wouldn't find a way to make things right, now that she was back. He didn't know what he had done to deserve a second chance, but he was determined to do things right this time. No way in hell his sorry ass would ever get a third.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some much needed Bethyl feels coming up next. Had to move the case along a little, though. Don't forget to drop your thoughts on me before you go!


	6. Feelin' That It's Gone

Sophia's feet throbbed. She didn't know that pain like this existed. Blood seeped from under the duct tape around her feet and ankles. She was sitting in a metal folding chair in front of a TV tray trying to keep the bottom of her feet from touching the floor beneath her. She started to shake, nearly rattling herself out of the chair, when she heard him coming.

"I brought you your favorite desert," he announced, "chocolate covered strawberries." He knelt down beside her, eager for her to see. "I remember how your face lit up the last time I brought you these. Do you remember? That first Christmas we spent together? You asked me how I knew they were your favorite. I don't know how I knew. I just did," he said as he stroked her matted hair. He searched her eyes, longing to see his love reflected back at him. "Andrea, don't you know that I would do anything for you? All you have to do is ask."

"Let me go," she whimpered, voice dry and cracked like her lips.

He swiped at the tears streaming steadily down her cheeks. "Don't cry, sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine. You'll see. I know things are rough right now. This place isn't as nice as what you're used to, and the food isn't as fancy, but things will get better. I promise. All we need is each other, right?... Andrea?... All we need is each other, right!" he demanded.

Sophia nodded and closed her eyes as more tears tracked down her cheeks. "Andrea, you hardly ate a thing. Here let me help you." He stabbed at the microwave dinner with a dirty fork and brought it to her lips. She pulled away instinctively. "If you don't eat, you'll get sick. I can't let anything happen to you. I won't... Not this time."

"It hurts," she whispered. "My wrists and my feet. They hurt."

"A consequence of your actions," he said sharply and grabbed his head. "No, no, no," he pleaded and slammed his fists against the sides of his head. "No… this is my time. She isn't yours… Just go away. Go away, please…" he begged. He turned his back to her. Squatted down in the floor and rubbed his hands roughly through his hair. 

Then, he stood and spun back to face her. He ran his knuckles bath and forth across her cheek. In a calm, sweet tone, he spoke. "I know you didn't mean it, sweetheart, but I can't protect you if you push me away." 

"Please," she pleaded.

"Tell me you love me, Andrea. I know you didn't mean to push me away. I can forgive you, just tell me you love me. Make me believe it." She could see the desperation in his eyes.

She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry, words were painful. "I love you," she finally managed.

"Say my name, Andrea," he said as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Sophia gagged and fought to keep the nausea at bay. "Tell me you love me. Say my name. Say it on a whisper or a giggle. Say it the way you used to." His hand came to rest on her neck, tangled in her hair. The other played with her fingers where they lay bound together in her lap.

"I...," she hesitated, and his grip tightened on her neck. She wanted to scream at him, " _I don't know your name_ ," but the last time she had admitted as much, he had become enraged. The bottom of her feet were pulverized in the beating she had taken. Over and over he pounded them. He told her she was weak and stupid. Told her he was in charge now, and she wouldn't forget it. She had a tab to work off… "Chocolate covered strawberries. Food she just kept wasting. Toying with their best recruiter." Sophia didn't understand any of it. He grabbed her by her ankle and drug her across the room. Slammed her against the radiator. "You won't be running away again, not with me in charge… Not this time."

She could see the anger building now behind his eyes. He grabbed the back of her hair and yanked on it, hard, snapping her head back. She screamed when her knees hit the tray in front of her sending the frozen dinner flying. He covered her mouth with his hand and forced her to the floor, landing roughly on top of her. "Why do you do this to me, Andrea?! Why," he wailed. She started to shake uncontrollably. He could see the terror in her eyes. It thrilled him. He brought his hand up, ready to back slap her, when a sharp pain behind his eye knocked off balance. He rolled off her, holding his head in agony.

Sophia didn't move. With her hands and her feet bound, there was little she could do but wait to see which personality emerged from his current fit. She prayed it was the nice one. The one that brought her chocolate covered strawberries. At least he didn't beat her.

He rolled back toward her. Pulled himself to his knees. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered as he shushed her and brushed her hair back from her face. He dropped his head to her chest and moaned into the crook of her neck. Lying underneath him, she could feel his body shudder under the weight of his sobs. She prayed he would cry himself to sleep. Just like he did last night after he lost control and beat her feet until she wretched and heaved. Within minutes, her prayer was answered. His breathing leveled and his hand slipped from her shoulder. Trapped beneath him, Sophia turned her head and watched as a roach crawled across the scattered remains of her frozen dinner.

^^^

"Hi, I'm Beth Greene," she said and extended her hand to Michonne from across the desk. "You're Michonne, right?"

"That's right," Michonne said as she shook the younger woman's hand.

"It's nice to meet ya'. Daryl said you've been working on all those names I sent over?"

"Yes."

"Could I run somethin' by you?"

"Sure," Michonne said and motioned for Beth to have a seat in the chair by her desk, "what 'cha got?"

"A name. Gareth William West. Do you recall seeing that on any of those lists?"

"Um, not off the top of my head, why?"

"His name popped on a B&E in Pennsylvania, but I can't find any photo records, nothing to put a face to a name."

Daryl spotted Beth as soon as she walked in. "What are ya' doin' here, Greene," he asked as he made his way over to her. To anyone else his greeting would have sounded gruff and annoyed, but to Beth it was icy hot. His voice both excited and soothed her. It always had and she was helpless against it.

Beth did a double take when she saw him headed her way. He was wearing a black tee-shirt and dark blue jeans along with his trademark, shit-kicker work boots. His hair was hanging low in his eyes, and Beth had to beat back the urge to reach up and brush the fringe of bangs from his brow. Intense blue eyes peaked at her through the fray, and she was suddenly hyperaware of his presence. He settled against the desk across from Michonne's, feet crossed at the ankles, hands shoved in his pockets. He seemed to fill the space entirely as if nothing existed outside of him. Beth knew it was a slippery slope, but everything about him drew her in: his eyes, his scent, his voice, and those arms! Beth had to suppress a shiver and look away. She was grateful when Michonne answered for her.

"We're looking at a name. Gareth West."

Daryl looked to Beth for an explanation. "There were eight veterinary hospital break-ins in and around Scranton, Pennsylvania over the course of a year before the murders began. Six were smash and grabs. Perps took whatever they could get their hands on. The other two were much more precise."

"How do you mean," Michonne asked.

"In those two break-ins, the perp used a glass cutter to cut a hole just big enough to reach in and unlock a back window. Both clinics had alarms, but neither went off... He bypassed the code. Both clinics also reported the same inventory loss."

"Ketamine," Daryl ventured.

"Ketamine and Hydromorphone," Beth confirmed. There was one suspect, Gareth William West, no arrest. According to the police report, he attended the University of Scranton. He was working on a double major, computer technology and chemical engineering. The weird part? I can't find a picture ID of this guy anywhere. There's no driver's license, no mug shot... I can't even find bank or utility records. When I called the university, all they could tell me was that he did go to school there but dropped out in the middle of his third year. According to his transcript, he was a straight A student, but there were no accounting records and no student ID photo. He's a ghost."

"You said he was a computer major, right? Maybe he erased everythin'?" Daryl wondered.

"I don't know," Michonne said. "It's one thing to hack the DMV or even the university system, but to erase all of your financials would take some pretty serious doing..."

"I want to look at the names on those lists again. See if Gareth West or any variation of that name shows up. I could really use your help," Beth said.

"You got it," Michonne offered.

Daryl could hear in Beth's voice how much she wanted to stop this guy. Last night, with Amy, she had meant it when she said they would do everything they could to stop this guy and get Sophia back.

The last case he and Beth had worked together in Intelligence had nearly killed her. Twelve homeless girls, all under the age of seventeen, had been found dead in a shipping container at the industrial pier. Beth had once again gone undercover, frequenting the four shelters where the girls had mostly gone for food and a safe night's rest. For two and a half weeks, she went from shelter to shelter, refusing to take a night off. Beth was tough, tougher than anybody gave her credit for. She blended in seamlessly with the younger crowd, spending her days and nights quietly asking questions and gathering information. One of the girls that Beth befriended invited her to a party down by the docks. She told Beth that some rich guy liked to throw parties once every couple of months for the girls. Rumor was, if he liked you, he would clean you up, find you work, and a place to live up town.

Beth and Mika had both been chosen. When it was all said and done, Mika, only sixteen at the time, lay dying in Beth's arms while bullets were exchanged over their heads. Daryl had held her against him while she sobbed for a girl that no one else had even taken the time to notice. He didn't promise her that everything would be okay. He didn't say anything at all, best he remembered. But Beth seemed to take comfort in him just being there. Sobs gave way to hiccups which then gave way to deep breaths before Beth succumbed to the exhaustion. He remembered how heavy she felt, sleeping like the dead, to be such a wisp of a woman, when he scooped her up and carried her to her bed. He covered her up with the quilt and had intended to leave, but something about her always made it so damn hard for him to walk away. He ended up sleeping in a chair in the living room, just in case she needed him. At least that's what he had told himself.

He saw that same determination in her eyes now. The dark circles below told him she hadn't been sleeping much, and it worried him how tired she looked. Her flawless skin was unusually pale, her blue eyes just a little dull. "I'll get Rick and Glenn. Maybe we'll find somethin'," Daryl said, promising her with a silent nod that they would do their best. She understood and rewarded him with a weary but grateful smile.

They all took a list and set to work. Sometime later, Michonne piped up. "Got somethin'," she announced and headed for the dry erase board. "Wesley Garrett," she said as she wrote the same name on the board. "He worked at the dealership, in the garage, in Virginia."

"I've got a William West in Scranton," Glenn added and Michonne put it on the board as well.

"Anything in North Carolina," she asked, marker ready.

"Nothin' here," Rick said as he continued to scan his list.

"Wait," Daryl said, "I got a Garett Weston. Greensboro." He caught Beth's eye, and he could practically see the hope rising behind them.

"Does anybody have the list from the auto parts company here in Atlanta?"

Michonne jogged back to her desk. She shuffled through a small stack of papers and scanned through the list she was looking for. "No variations on Gareth William West."

Glenn was looking through his interview notes. "When I talked to the guy that owned the company, I asked if there was anyone else who went in and out of the warehouse on a regular basis. He told me that they sometimes ordered from the Auto Mart on fifth. Delivery guy's name was Will."

"Call the Auto Mart," Daryl said, eyes on Glenn. 

"Okay, thanks man," Glenn said and hung up the phone. All eyes turned to the young detective. "Will Garrettson was a cash pay employee. No address. No phone number. Stopped showing up to work five weeks ago."

"He would have known the warehouse company was shutting down," Rick said.

"Mhmm," Daryl answered. "Prob'ly knew about the engine block hook in the back too."

"Perfect place for him to do his work," Rick surmised. "Glenn, get a sketch artist over to the Auto Mart."

"What now," Michonne asked.

Rick looked at Daryl, but he was watching Beth. "It's 7:00," Rick said. "We go home, get some rest, and regroup in the morning. If this is our guy, we'll find him."

Reluctantly, the team trickled out, one by one, each somber with disappointment. Daryl caught Beth by the elbow and guided her to the break room. She headed for the window, arms crossed over her chest, in a desperate effort to hold herself together.

"Beth," he said, voice deep and rough.

"It's him," she interrupted. "It's him, and he's in the wind doing who knows what to that girl. To Sophia."

Daryl moved toward her with silent footfalls, stopping just behind her. With only the thought of comforting her, he lifted his hands to her shoulders and whispered, "I'm sorry," in her ear.

Beth leaned back into him, drawing comfort from the beat of his heart against her back. When he slipped his arms around her shoulders, cocooning her against him, she closed her eyes and let her head fall to his shoulder.

"Come on," he said, nose buried in her hair, "we need to eat, get some rest."

Beth turned in his arms. "Daryl," she began, but something in his eyes stole her thoughts and she faltered, "I..." Daryl gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear letting his hand come to rest tentatively on her neck. When Beth unfolded her arms and flattened her palms to his chest, his gaze drifted to her lips. He leaned in closer, felt her shutter and rise to her toes.

"Hey Daryl, what do you think we should... Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to inter..."

"You didn't," Beth squeaked as she pulled back from Daryl. "I uh, I was just heading out. Long day. Thank you for your help, Rick. I'll see you two tomorrow," she stammered as she skirted around the two men and headed for her belongings.

Rick turned back to Daryl, an apology on his lips. "Don't," Daryl said with a deep scowl on his face.

"Really, I'm sorry man."

"'S okay. She's just tore up over this case."

Rick shook his head slowly. "Looked like more than that to me."

Daryl cut his eyes at his friend. A low, growly "Mmmm," was his only response.

"Want my opinion?"

"No," he said, but he looked at Rick expectantly.

Rick grinned. "I remember how good the two of you were together."

"We were never together," Daryl protested.

"Yes, you were, whether you knew it or not. I saw the way that girl looked at you, the way she looks at you now. Nothing's changed, friend. Not for you or her."

^^^

Beth pulled into the federal building parking lot after a much needed, good night's rest. The old Ford pickup caught her eye while the man leaning against it stole her breath. She felt that familiar flutter low in her gut at the sight of him. It took three years of focused effort to bury her feelings for him and less than four days for those same feelings to spring to life. Things seemed different this time, though. She found herself doing less pining and more hoping. And after what happened last night, more contemplating. He had almost kissed her, or maybe she had almost kissed him. She wasn't sure. The one and only time they had kissed had been the absolute most perfect night of her life. Her heart had been on fire for him. Moving forward into a romantic relationship had seemed like the natural next step. He was the best friend she had ever had, and Daryl had all but said the same thing to her. It had nearly broken her when he pulled away.

Now here he was sauntering her way with a coffee in each hand. She tried to temper her smile when she met his eyes, but it was no use. She was happy to see him. Daryl stopped an arm's length in front of her and held out a cup. He looked almost shy, shuffling his feet, waiting for her to take the cup.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, but questions played across her face.

"Jus' wanted to make sure you're a'right."

"I am, thanks."

"How'd ya' sleep," he mumbled and shoved his hand deep in his pocket.

"Like a rock," she grinned, and some of the tension left Daryl's shoulders. "Have you ever been to Pennsylvania," she blurted out.

"Never been out a' Georgia."

"I think we should go to Scranton. I can call the officer of record on the break-ins, but I want to speak to the folks at the university in person, see if it leads us anywhere. I think I can get it approved."

Daryl pulled his hand from his pocket and started chewing on his thumb, not sure he had heard her correctly. _She said "we", right? Scranton? With her?_

"What do you think," she asked timidly.

Daryl shrugged his answer and gave her a whispered grunt.

Beth shrugged back at him, her cheeks a little flushed. "What does that mean," she teased.

Daryl started to nod.

"Yeah?" she asked. A hopeful smile spread across her face. It gave him the courage he needed to speak.

"Yeah. Let's go to Pennsylvania, girl."

Beth knocked on Agent Blake's door. "Hey, Chief."

Blake motioned for her to enter his office. Everyone called him Chief. He was a seasoned agent, respected and admired. To Beth, he was a mentor and a friend.

"I found something," she said, "a name, Gareth William West."

Blake listened as Beth recounted their findings, including the dead end they hit last night. "I need to go to Scranton. There's somethin' I'm missing. Maybe I'll find it if I go there and start diggin' in person."

Agent Blake leaned back in his chair, mulling over her request. "I don't think so, Beth."

"What?" she retorted, shocked at his response. "Why not?"

"I'm just not sure a trip to Pennsylvania is warranted."

"But...," she stammered.

"Look, I've given you a lot of leeway here lately. I've allowed you to work with APD on this because, one, we need to keep a good rapport with them, and two, I know you used to be one of them. However, you work for the bureau now, and you would do well to remember that."

"I know where my loyalties lie," she shot back, temper flaring. "And since when did this become a competition? Isn't our single, common objective stopping this guy?"

"Yes, of course it is," he said very matter-of-factly.

"Then authorize this trip to Pennsylvania. The investigation is at a standstill, and this guy is gonna' get really desperate, really quickly. We could lose him! We could lose the girl!"

"Or desperation could force another mistake."

"At what cost," she asked, deadly serious. "Chief, please. The answers we need are in Scranton."

Agent Blake sighed, giving Beth the once over. "Let me think about it."

"There's no time..."

"Agent Greene! You have been given an answer."

Beth glared at him. He had never raised his voice to her before. 

"Yes, sir," she said, voice calm and clear. "I would like to officially request a few days of vacation time, please, starting tomorrow..."

"Denied, Agent Greene."

"I've been with the bureau two and a half years now, and I've never so much as called in sick."

Blake stared at her intently from across the desk. "If I approve this trip to Scranton, you know I can't let you go alone. That means it's you and Zach all the way to Pennsylvania."

"This is a joint task, right? Detective Dixon already said he would go with me."

"Detective Dixon," Blake repeated. "Is that a personal or a professional offer?"

"Professional, I assure you," she hissed through her teeth. "He's as eager as I am to get this guy."

Blake leaned forward in his chair and pointed his finger at Beth. "You get your business done, and you get your ass back here, ASAP. You will report to me twice a day. You got it?"

She nodded once, thanked him, and high tailed it out of his office before he could change his mind. She stopped in the hall and shot Daryl a text… "Pennsylvania is a go. We leave tomorrow. I'll text you the details in a bit."

Daryl was looking over Michonne's shoulder at the list of registered Ford Taurus's in the Atlanta area. They were attempting to narrow their search by make and color when Beth's text came through. Michonne caught the twitch in his lips. "Good news?"

He responded with a whispered grunt.

"Where'd you send Rick and Glenn," she asked.

"Industrial district. Lookin' for the Taurus. Beth said this guy's a creature 'a habit. Maybe he's stayin' some place close to the warehouse."

Michonne nodded and turned back to her computer. "Tell Rick I'll call him later," Daryl said as he made his way to his desk.

"Where ya' headed?"

"Gotta' pack."

"For what?"

Daryl took and exasperated breath, annoyed by all the questions. "Me and Beth's goin' to Pennsylvania. See what we can find..." He peaked at Michonne through his bangs. "What?"

"I didn't say anything." She didn't have to. The coy little smile she was wearing said it all.

"I'll be back in a couple days."

"Have fun,"

"Ain't no fun to it. 'S work. That's all."

"Uh huh. She likes you, you know."

"How the hell you figure that?"

"Pretty obvious, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well I didn't," he said and slammed his desk drawer shut. Michonne tried to stifle a laugh when a pink-cheeked Daryl took off grumbling down the hall. She could have sworn she heard him say something about a "damn romance novel."


	7. Can Change Your Mind

He dragged her to him. The weathered floor snagged her dress and scraped her back. He flung her over his shoulder and carried her back to the bedroom where she had first awoken to this nightmare. He tossed her to the mattress by the wall. "She's all yours," he said with a smug smile. Turned his back to her and seemed to shrink in stature right in front of her.

Through swollen eyes, she watched him pull back a sheet that hid a tiny closet full of evening dresses. He chose two and alternately held one and then the other out in front of him. "The blue one," he said aloud and turned to her for confirmation. She blinked rapidly, eyes too dry for tears. "Yes, the blue one I think". He returned the pink one to the closet and delicately spread his choice on the bed. "You always look so beautiful in blue. It makes your eyes sparkle." His voice was light and cheerful as if he hadn't a care in the world. He squatted next to her and tapped her nose playfully. "You still like blue, right?"

His smile seemed genuine, not predatory like it had only moments ago. Like it had when he pulverized her feet. When he opened the drawer to the nightstand and removed the oversized serrated blade, Sophia's eyes shot wide in horror.

"No, no, nooo" he soothed rushing back to her side. "Don't be scared, sweetheart. I'm just gonna' cut the tape on your wrists so you can change clothes. Here, see," he said and slowly drug the knife under the tape. "You know, I don't really see why this duct tape is necessary," he shrugged, "but I'm not in charge so..."

Sophia watched him as he worked to free her hands. He held his tongue between his lips like a child as he concentrated on his task. His voice was soft and shy with no hint of desperation or frustration like before. There was a lightness to him, a soft bounce in his step. This was not the same man that had attacked her.

"Why are you doing this," she whispered.

"So, you can change your dress," he answered matter-of-factly.

"No... Why are you keeping me here? What do you want from me?"

He lifted his chin from her hands and studied her face. His entire being seemed to transform right in front of her eyes. The physical features were the same, but evil rose behind his eyes and his expression darkened, setting his face in hard lines. His grip on the knife tightened until his knuckles turned white. He whirled and chucked the knife hard against the wall. The scream that clawed its way from his throat was inhuman. Spinning back to face her, he wretched and spit and beat at his temples with his fist, his face red with rage. This was the man that had beat her feet until they were purple and swollen. This was the man that terrified her. He surged forward and pinned her to mattress. "What do I want from you," he screamed, showering her face with spit. "Are you kidding me? I want an apology, Andrea! I want you to understand that you don't get to treat people like that. You owe me! And I'm taking what I'm owed one way or another."

She turned her face away and squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the worst. Long, thin, spider like fingers slipped around her throat. The more he screamed, the tighter his grip became. "I want things to be like they used to be. I want you to convince me that you didn't mean it!" Her lungs burned and light exploded behind her eyes, searing her retinas from the inside out. "Why is that so hard? Why, Andrea? Why!" The last thing she felt was the bone crushing crack of his head against hers before the world around her went dark and quiet.

***

"You sure you want to do this," Beth asked as he chewed on his thumbnail in front of the oversized windows.

Daryl had watched the plane they would soon be boarding lumber into Gate 16. Beth bit her lower lip trying to keep a smile at bay while Daryl scanned the faces of each passenger as they exited the plane, no doubt searching for signs of terror or nausea or whatever it was he expected to feel on their two hour and ten minute flight to Scranton.

"Daryl," she said again. He had started to fidget, pacing back and forth in front of the window. She made a quick decision and stepped in front of him. Cupping his cheeks, she gently forced him to look at her. "Daryl, you don't have to do this."

His eyes jumped back and forth between hers. For a second there, she thought he might turn tail and run, but then she felt him relax on a deep breath. "Nah," he said shaking his head. "You're stuck wit' me, girl."

The smile she rewarded him with had his heart racing for an entirely different reason. Daryl was sure he could live on that smile alone if it came down to it. Beth took his hand and lead him toward the gate, guiding them toward the back so that they were one of the last ones to board the plane. She didn't let go of his hand until they were seated.

"You sure you don't want the window?"

" 'm sure," he said as he fit and fiddled in his seat trying to acclimate to the completely foreign surroundings. His hands finally landed on his knees in a white-knuckled grip. He gave the stewardess his undivided attention as she went through the safety procedures. He even lifted out of his seat to see exactly where the emergency exits were located when she pointed them out.

When they finally made it to the runway, Beth peeled Daryl's hand from the armrest and secured it between her own. She twisted in her seat and rested her knees on his thigh. Her chin landed softly on his shoulder so he could hear her voice in his ear. When she started to sing, Daryl closed his eyes and focused solely on her melody.

" _Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done? I've fallen in love with a man on the run. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please. Don't take that sinner from me. Oh don't take that sinner from me. He's raised on the edge of the devil's backbone. Oh I just wanna' take him home..."_

By the time Beth finished the song, they were thousands of miles above the earth. Daryl's eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head lazily to face her. The small, tight-lipped smile he gave her was all the thanks she needed.

She tilted her head and Daryl's hand floated to her cheek. It would be so easy to close the distance between them, especially when Beth was looking at him like that with those big, blue eyes of hers.

When the weight of his gaze got to be too much, Beth shifted so that her temple rested against his shoulder. When she felt Daryl's cheek against the top of her head, she closed her eyes and slowly drifted to sleep, so very grateful that he had decided to take a chance and make the trip with her.

Daryl ran his hand lightly along her jaw stirring her slowly awake. Beth instinctively leaned into his touch. As the haze of sleep lifted, Beth's eyelids slowly lifted. She batted her eyes against the cabin lights.

Daryl's gruff whisper brought her attention his way. "Mornin' Sunshine."

Beth reluctantly lifted her head from his shoulder and stretched the best she could in the confined space. "Gettin' ready to land," he said, voice deep and rough.

Beth smiled at him sweetly. "I hope I didn't wear your shoulder out."

"Nah. 'S fine. But the guy behind us said somethin' 'bout your snorin'"

She sat straight up, eyes wide, " Nooooo."

"No," he said with a smirk.

Beth shot him the stink eye and a smile before turning her attention to the scenery just coming into view outside the tiny window. She saw dotted farmland and small suburban clusters surrounded by narrow rivers that cut the land into various shapes and designs. She grabbed Daryl's arm and pulled him over to have a look. She studied his face while he watched the scenery below take shape. Her gut clenched at his nearness. He had a beautiful face, rugged and finely etched. He caught her staring and returned the favor, enjoying the rise of pink in her cheeks.

From the airport, they headed straight to the University of Scranton. "Hi, Beth Greene. We have an appointment with Mrs. Grieve at 2:30."

"I'll tell her you're here," the young woman said. She did a double take when she saw Daryl and offered him a very inviting smile as she stood and turned, making her way to the closed office door behind her. Beth's eyebrow shot up, but Daryl didn't even seem to notice the other woman's attention.

Margaret Grieve was a petite yet stern looking woman in her late fifties, early sixties. They exchanged introductions and Mrs. Grieve pulled a thin file from atop her well organized desk. "This is everything we have on Gareth West," she said passing the file to Beth. "It's odd, really. As I told you on the phone yesterday, there is no picture ID in the paper file, nor is there one in the computer system. I can't explain it. I can, however, tell you what I do know about Mr. West. He attended this university on a Milton Earl scholarship. That particular scholarship covers tuition, room and board, plus on-campus employment. The recipient must maintain a minimum 3.2 grade point average, which Mr. West did up until his early departure from our campus."

"Is that an academic scholarship," Beth asked.

"In part, yes. The Milton Earl scholarship is only available to students from Pennsylvania who were either adopted or who grew up as a ward of the state."

"West was adopted?"

"No, as a matter of fact, he was not. The scholarship application with that information is also missing from his file. I was on the selection committee, however, the year that Mr. West applied. As you can imagine, the number of applicants is relatively low, thus I remember his story quite clearly. He was orphaned as a toddler when his mother committed suicide. His grandmother relinquished custody, and he was sent to foster care. I remember him to be a bright, polite, and good natured young man. He seemed very well adjusted despite his difficult upbringing. It made me wonder how a boy with his charm and intelligence had remained unadopted."

"Wher'd he work on campus," Daryl asked.

"That information is still in his file. He worked in one of the science labs on a research project with Dr. Joseph Morgan. He was also employed in the student outreach center as a math and computer tech tutor."

Beth glanced at Daryl. "We'd like to talk to Dr. Morgan and to someone in student outreach if we could, please."

"Let me just call and set that up for you. As you requested, you already have a meeting with campus police tomorrow morning, 9AM."

Beth and Daryl left the office of Mrs. Margaret Grieve, perhaps the single most efficient woman in Pennsylvania, with a file in hand and a plan for the next day. They walked in silence back to the rental car. "You think it's him," Daryl asked, breaking through Beth's thoughtful silence.

"If it is, how in the hell did he erase his life?"

Daryl didn't have an answer, not yet anyway, but they both seemed to ponder the possibilities as they rode on in silence.

They stopped at a little diner near the school to grab a bite before heading to the hotel.

"How far is your aunt's place from here?"

Beth just about choked on her chicken sandwich. She had mentioned her favorite aunt in Pennsylvania, maybe once, in the time she and Daryl had spent together. When she thought about it though, she wasn't really surprised that he remembered. Daryl was the most observant man she had ever met, and he had the memory of an elephant. Still, she couldn't help herself. "How did you remember that?"

Daryl just shrugged. "Seemed important to ya'"

Beth stared at him, the bigger meaning behind his words warming her heart. "Oh," was the only word she could form. She was sure her affection for this man was written all over her face, but right then, she didn't care.

"Said she lives on a farm, right?"

"Right," she nodded gathering her wits. "She and my uncle live in Lock Haven. It's about a hundred and twenty miles from here."

"That ain't that far," he said leaving an unspoken suggestion hanging between them.

The waitress returned with their food and Beth dug in. It never ceased to amaze him how much Beth Greene could eat. "What," she asked as she wiped a big splash of ketchup from her chin.

"Nothin'," he grunted. "Tell me about Lock Haven."

"It's small... really, really small. Maybe 9 or 10,000 people if you don't count the university crowd. Aunt Deanna and Uncle Reg have a farm on the river, the Susquehana. Say that three times fast," she said playfully before taking another bite of her supper.

Daryl watched and listened as Beth prattled on about her family, content to follow the melodic flow of her voice. "They have two sons, Spencer and Aiden, one younger than me, one older. Uncle Reg is a farmer and Aunt Deanna is a history professor at Lock Haven University. Their place is amazing. It's been in the family since the Revolutionary War. Deanna is my mama's sister. I used to spend all my summers there. Couldn't wait for school to end. You'd love it there, Daryl. There's acres and acres of huntin' land. We fish on the river, and they have this incredible tree house that my uncle built. I hope it's still there. I haven't actually seen my aunt and uncle since I graduated from the FBI Academy."

"Sounds nice," he said and decided right then and there that Beth would be visiting her family before they headed home.

Finally settled in their rooms at the hotel, Beth heard a soft knock on the door connecting her room to Daryl's. She opened it to find a sleepy eyed Daryl Dixon standing there in a T-shirt and pajama pants.

"Jus' wanted to say goodnight."

She smiled shyly. "Goodnight," but rather than turn away, she leaned lazily against the edge of the door and waited for his eyes to find hers. "I'm glad you're here, Daryl," she said intimating every word on a breath.

"Yeah," he answered, voice thick and rough, "me too."

A moment of heated silence passed between them. There was just something about her that both sped his heart and calmed his soul. He had never felt so lost as he did when she left for the academy, not even as a kid when he would come home to find the front door locked and nobody home until well after dark.

Something in her soft smile beckoned him forward. He reached for her, threading his fingers through the ends of her hair where it lay damp over one shoulder. Beth's breath hitched. An all too familiar fire lit low in her gut. Daryl's fingers ghosted over her neck. His gaze traveled from her hair to her mouth. She shuddered and caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. Blood rushed in his ears drowning out that ever present voice of doubt and insecurity. Daryl felt that same pull toward her that he always felt. She was like gravity and he was helpless against it.

When his fingers stilled at the back of her neck, and his other hand settled softly on her hip, Beth lifted trembling fingers low to his waist and crumpled the hem of his T-shirt in her fist. Hesitant lips connected with hers, but it was enough to send flames shooting through her veins. Heart hammering in her chest, she rose to her toes, increasing the pressure against his lips. He angled her head to the side, and she opened her mouth to his. When Beth's hand glided up his chest and delicate fingers curled into his flesh, the tiny modicum of control that Daryl had been clinging to evaporated. She felt the rumble in his chest as it rolled upward into a low, guttural growl at his throat. He slid his arm around her waist, encircling her completely in his hold. He was rewarded with a tiny sliver of exposed skin at the small of her back. He tugged her flush against him. Kissed her possessively. Beth returned his fervor, keening against him. Long, slow kisses turned heated and desperate. When Beth moaned against his lips, reality slammed into him, and he pulled back sharply, breathless and panting.

"Daryl," she breathed.

He shook his head, and she could read the apology in his eyes. "Should get some rest," he mumbled and lowered his forehead to hers. Shaken, all Beth could do was nod. Daryl pulled away trailing his calloused fingers the length of her soft pale arm. He repeated his "g'night," but he didn't close the door and neither did Beth before stepping back into her own room.

A/N: So just a quick chapter to move the case along as well as a little angsty Bethyl. The next chapter is all Bethyl goodness and I'm so excited to post it!


	8. If We Can't Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethyl Goodness!!

**9AM** : The ride to the campus police station was blessedly short. Beth grabbed a coffee at the hotel Starbucks and headed to the car as Daryl stepped out of the elevator. "Ha! Beat 'cha!" she thought when she caught his eye and motioned toward the lobby doors.

He was just stepping outside, holding his own cup, when she pulled the car around. She had decided this morning, standing in front of the steam clouded mirror, not to think about those toe-curling kisses, not one more second. If Daryl couldn't finish what he started, that was his problem, and she'd be damned if she let him affect her ever again. She held her chin high, sipped her coffee, and hummed along with the radio all the way to campus. Daryl, per usual, kept himself quiet in the passenger seat.

The campus police station was exactly what you would expect: small, stale, and quiet. Half of the force consisted of unarmed college students tasked with writing tickets and patrolling pedestrian trails while the other half seemed a little more functional. Beth and Daryl met with the officer in charge, Sergeant Michael Pickens, who informed them that Gareth West had not even earned a parking ticket while a student at the university. He was, however, questioned when a bottle of injectable anesthetic went missing in the research lab where he worked, "but it looks like it was resolved internally. You could speak to Dr. Morgan about that. He was the professor in charge."

"That was quite a while ago," Professor Joseph Morgan said as he continued to rifle through the stacks and stacks of papers on his desk. "Best I remember, the bottle turned up and the investigation was dropped."

"What did you use the ketamine for, professor?" Beth inquired.

"To sedate the mice before procedures and euthanasia."

"What can you tell us about Gareth West?"

He paused in thought. "Good kid. Hard worker."

"Did he quit or..."

"Yes. He lost it over a girl."

"How do you mean?"

"Students date and break up. There's always drama, you know? But this was different. I got the feeling he wasn't moving on."

"Don't s'pose you remember her name," Daryl asked

"It was a long time ago, Detective."

"Professor Morgan," Beth said pointing to the picture ID hanging around his neck, "your badge is also a card swipe, right."

"Yes, you have to swipe your badge to get into the research labs."

"So, Mr. West would have had a similar badge?"

"Yes, why?"

"Any chance you still have that badge?"

"You'll have to ask the department secretary."

Daryl threw him a narrow eyed glare.

"I'll giver her a call," Professor Morgan offered. "Then I'll give you a call."

"Thank you, sir," Beth said and handed him her card.

Beth and Daryl stepped into the late morning sun. "Which way?"

Beth pulled out her cartoon-like map of the campus. "Student Outreach Center. That way."

The outreach center was a hub of activity. Behind the horseshoe shaped desk, Beth and Daryl found a young man eager to help. "That's weird," he said and made a face at the monitor.

"Let me guess. All of his information has been deleted," Beth said, not even trying to disguise her frustration. "Do you have any paper files?"

"We used to keep everything on paper. Up until a year or so ago. We back up everything off site now, so there's no need."

"He would've worked here two and a half, three years ago," Daryl said.

"Hang on. Let me get Levi. He's worked here longer than that."

Levi Brown led them to a small storage closet full of old notebooks. "We dumped everything in here until we could get the okay to destroy it. You're welcome to look through it."

"You have got to be kidding me," Beth whined. When Levi said, "dumped", he literally meant dumped. Piles of appointment books had been tossed haphazardly into the center of the tiny room.

"If it helps, the notebooks are labeled by date and subject."

"Levi, did you know Gareth West," Beth asked, all hint of frustration gone from her sweet voice.

"I knew him a little. He was really good at math."

"Did he ever mention a girlfriend?"

Levi chuckled, "No. No girlfriend. He was nice but he wasn't exactly great with the ladies. If you need anything, just yell."

Daryl held his arm out giving her a silent, "ladies first," and followed her in. They cleared two spots on the floor and set to work. Forty-five minutes later, Daryl stopped to stretch his back. He watched Beth as she continued to sort through stacks of old tutoring appointment books.

"Gonna' get a wrinkle," he mumbled with a smirk.

Beth looked up at him, taking a second to shift gears and process what he had just said. She realized she was frowning and tried to relax her face. "Look who's talkin'. Pretty sure your scowl is a registered trademark."

"Mmm," he grumbled but the twitch of his upper lip had her grinning. "Worked on Professor Morgan." 

"Yeah, but he doesn't know you like I do." Beth caught him off guard with that. Something in the way she said it. She held his gaze, enjoying the questions that played behind his eyes.

Beth went back to searching… and watching Daryl over the top of the appointment book in her hands. Daryl pointedly ignored the attention and kept scanning the stacks in front of him. Moments later, Daryl found a stack of math appointment books within the date range they were interested in. Three names popped consistently over an eight-month period, just prior to West's departure from school. Beth grabbed her phone and called Mrs. Grieve.

Daryl leaned against the doorframe and watched Beth slowly pace up and down the narrow hallway. How could she be so damn tough and so damn soft and beautiful all at the same time? And what the hell was he thinkin', kissin' her like he did last night? Holdin' her like his life depended on it? She deserved better than a piece of shit like him. Didn't matter that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life. Didn't matter that he always felt like smilin' when he was with her. Didn't matter that her light burned away the darkness that he carried around inside of him. Didn't matter that his heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of her or that he was willing to do whatever it took to make her happy for the rest of his life. What mattered was that he was a Dixon, and no good could ever come from that.

"Andrea Kirkman," she said stopping in front of him. "One of our names. She disappeared from her dorm on campus two and a half years ago. No body. Case was never closed. She could be ground zero."

 **4PM** : Detective Hector Ortega was a seasoned detective. He was only forty-six, but he had been a cop for twenty of those forty-six years and had risen quickly through the ranks. His partner, Detective Trevor Bailey was young and eager. The Andrea Kirkman case was Ortega's first case to go cold, and he was still haunted by it.

"Yeah, that case was a bitch," Detective Ortega said glancing at his partner. "Kirkman was a sophomore. By all accounts she was smart, friendly, not an enemy one. She was a pretty little thing too. Best I recall, she had been to a fraternity dance the night she disappeared. Her date was a friend. Said he dropped her off at her dorm a little after midnight. Walked her to the door and watched her go inside. Security footage confirmed he went back to his room shortly thereafter. Roommate said he didn't go out again that night."

"Did you like him for it," Daryl asked.

"No, I didn't. He was pretty upset by the whole thing. Seemed genuine. Alibi checked out."

"Did the name Gareth West come up in your investigation?"

"Doesn't sound familiar, but let me grab my notes," he said and excused himself to the back of the squad room.

"What's got the FBI stirred up again over this case," Detective Bailey finally spoke. "It's not like you guys were any help the first time you poked around."

"The first time?" Beth questioned.

"Agent showed up about three weeks after the case went cold. He looked through all our notes and said he would be in touch. Never heard another thing from him."

Beth looked at Daryl with a deep frown and turned back to Bailey. "You said 'he'. Was there just one agent?"

"Yep, just one."

"Do you have a name?"

"Should be in the notes."

Ortega returned with a dusty evidence box in hand. "This is everything we have. As you can see, it isn't much, but you're welcome to it. Let me just look through my list of names. West, you said?"

"Yes, Gareth West. He was her math tutor."

"Let's see... Yeah, Gareth West. We interviewed him a few days after the disappearance. He lived in her dorm. Friends said he would show up at different times and places, but there was no real interaction. Seemed like maybe he had a crush on her, but nothing significant turned up. He was never forward or inappropriate according to the friends closest to Kirkman."

"Detective Bailey said that the bureau was involved at one point."

"You know that was really strange. One of your agents showed up weeks after the investigation stalled. He looked at my notes and asked if we had photographs or videos of our interviews. We don't routinely photograph or video anyone unless we haul 'em in as a suspect. It was more like this guy was just being nosey, you know. He was pretty useless when he was here. No offense, Agent Greene."

"None taken," she assured him. "Do you have the agent's name?"

"Uh, yeah, I should," he said as he flipped through his notebook. "Here it is. Agent Philip Blake."

Stunned, Beth's eyes went wide. "You're uh… you're sure?"

"That's what I wrote down. Why? You know him?"

"Yes," she said regaining her composure. "He's a good agent. I'm sure he did everything he could to help."

"Could we see a photo of Kirkman," Daryl asked purposefully shifting the conversation.

Ortega passed him the photo and told him to keep it. He had more copies. Andrea Kirkman fit the profile exactly. She **_was_** the profile. Ground Zero. And Daryl's gut was tellin' him that Gareth West was the man responsible.

Beth stood and thanked the men for their time. She needed to get out of the squad room. Sooner rather than later. She pulled out her phone on the way to the car. "This is Agent Greene calling again. Is Mrs. Grieve still in her office?... Thank you... Yes, hello. I just have a couple of follow-up questions if you don't mind... I'm sure you're familiar with the disappearance of Andrea Kirkman... That's right. Do you recall speaking with an agent from the bureau during that investigation?... Do you remember his name?... Would he have had access to your computer as part of that investigation?... Thank you, Mrs. Grieve. You've been very helpful."

Daryl watched her, following her with his eyes as she paced and talked on the phone. What the hell was Blake doin' here? More importantly, what was his involvement gonna' do to Beth? He knew she trusted him, cared about him as a friend and a mentor.

Beth walked back to the car where Daryl was leaning against the trunk. He rose to meet her. "Mrs. Grieve spoke to a single agent investigating Andrea Kirkman's disappearance. She didn't remember his name, but she said he spent the afternoon on her assistant's computer with complete access to student records. He had a court order from a federal judge."

Daryl drew in a breath. He had learned a long time ago to trust his gut, and right now his gut was screaming that this was bad, really bad. "You think he was wipin' West from the system?"

She didn't need to answer. The look on her face said she did, in fact, think that that was exactly what Blake was doing. It killed him to see her hurting like that.

"Why? Why would he do it? I don't get it." Hurt had quickly morphed into anger. Betrayal tended to do that to a person. Beth had her arms crossed over her chest. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes were on fire. She threw her head back. "Think. I need to think."

Daryl stepped forward and took hold of her shoulders. "Hey, let's go back to the hotel. We can take a walk, talk it out like we used ta'."

She sighed deeply and he felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Daryl's hands slid lightly down her arms, landing at her elbows. He bent down to meet her eyes. "Yeah?"

Beth nodded and slid into the passenger seat without arguing.

By the time Daryl made it to the driver's side, Beth was on the phone, seemingly completely composed. She was instructing someone on the other end to speak to a friendly federal judge, one she knew by name, that would allow them complete access to Gareth West's juvenile history. She finished with an order to report back directly to her with the findings.

Daryl was impressed, and that was saying something. He wasn't sure if he had the right to be proud of her, but he figured he was anyway. He knew Beth could take care of herself. He trusted her with his own ass, but his gut was telling him that this shit was gonna' get bad, and it stirred up that protective edge he had always felt where Beth was concerned.

"That was my friend Holly at the bureau. She said she would let me know something by tonight."

Daryl nodded, no hint of all he was feeling and thinking in his expression. "Ya' hungry?"

"Maybe somethin' quick. I wanna' get back to my computer."

Daryl had just finished his shower and grabbed the remote when Beth burst through the connecting door. Her face was flushed, and her breaths were ragged and quick. Tears pricked at her eyes setting Daryl on high alert. "What?" he demanded

"I pulled Blake's file. I thought I remembered him telling me he went to Penn State. He's from Pennsylvania, Daryl. He worked in the Allentown office after he graduated. It's unusual to catch an assignment anywhere near your hometown unless you graduate first in your class and choose that, but Blake is fluent in Lebanese, Arabic, and French... all native languages to the Lebanese people. There's a huge contingent of Lebanese and Muslim people in the Allentown area. That's why he got that assignment."

"Slow down. What are ya' gettin' at?"

"Holly called. Gareth West's mother, Mary, was twenty-three when he was born. There's no father listed on the birth certificate. Shortly after Gareth's birth, Mary West started to build quite the arrest record for everything from public indecency to public intoxication, possession, and prostitution. Nothing prior to his birth. Mary had an address in Allentown." Beth paused and drew in a shaky breath. "She lived there two years before Gareth was born. Around the time of his birth, she moved to Mansfield to live with her mother, Deloris West. That's where Gareth lived until he was sent to foster care. Deloris still lives at that address."

"Yer' thinkin', what, Blake knew his mom?"

Beth ran her fingers through her hair. "I don't know... I."

Daryl tossed the remote on the bed. "Come on. Let's walk. I can't think in here."

They took the stairs and ended up on a short nature trail behind the hotel. It wasn't dense and isolated like the woods back home where he used to take her hunting, but it was green and quiet, and they could see the moon and the stars overhead. Beth felt like she could breathe again.

"Daryl," she said, voice stronger and calmer, "Blake's connected. I don't know how, but there's somethin' there. He spent four years in Allentown. From there, he transferred to Virginia. He spent seven years in that office before being transferred to Greensboro. After that, he landed in Atlanta. There was nothing unusual about any of the transfers. Blake is single. He can pack up and leave without too much trouble. Each transfer was initiated by the bureau, based on need because of a retirement or a transfer."

"You think West is trackin' him?"

"I don't know. We need to see if we can connect either Mary West or Gareth to Blake."

"How far is Mansfield from here?"

"Couple of hours, maybe."

"Allentown?"

"It's closer, but it's huge. One of the largest cities in Pennsylvania. I think Mansfield is our better bet."

"Mansfield it is."

"I don't get it, Daryl. Why didn't Blake say anything when I gave him Gareth West's name?"

Daryl shook his head. Ideas and theories were bouncing around in there, but he wasn't quite ready to share. "Do you trust him?"

Beth stopped and considered his question. "Not like I trust you... But, he's never given me any reason not to trust him… I don't know... I need to call this in... Tell Zach."

"Iduno', maybe you should wait. See what we find in Mansfield."

"Blake's gonna' know I pulled his file." The weight of what was happening settled into her shoulders.

Daryl stepped to her, hands tugging at her elbows. Beth fell willingly into his chest. "We'll figure this out."

She nodded and inhaled a deep, nose full of Daryl. He smelled like timber and pine, and it settled her. Composed, she took one small step back from him, just enough to look up and catch his eyes. Something shifted in her expression. It made him want to start fidgeting. "Daryl, what happened... before... with us?"

It was rare that Daryl was caught off guard. It made him defensive. "You left," he spat with a little more venom than he intended.

Beth knew she had ambushed him, but right now, she was tired, and it felt like the walls were closing in. She needed to talk to Daryl about their past. Needed to clear the air so they could move on. Needed to clear her head so she could focus on the task at hand. Daryl backed away from her, hackles up.

"You kissed me, Daryl. You finally kissed me, after all those months of talkin' and spendin' time together. I thought it meant somethin'."

"It did."

"Then why'd you push me away?"

"I didn't! That was all you, girl," he hissed.

"You acted like a jackass! Like nothin' that happened between us mattered! It was bullshit, and you know it."

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know," she said voice cracking on the last word. Anger gave way to hurt, and she nearly choked on the swell of tears caught in her throat.

"You don't know nothin'," he fired back.

"I know you and I were workin' on somethin' good... somethin' lastin' and you walked away... just 'cause you were afraid."

He lunged into her space and growled, "I ain't afraid 'a nothin'."

Beth held her own. "I remember. I was there when the Sergeant told you your brother had been in that wreck. I was with you at the hospital when he died. Heaven forbid you let anybody else get too close. You tried to shut down then, but I wouldn't let you... You don't get it, Daryl..."

"No, you don't get it! Maybe I could 'a done somethin'. Maybe if I hadn't given' up on him... Merle. That's on me... You leavin'? That's on you." He was twitching and finger pointing and yelling like there was no tomorrow. "You took off to join the FBI like some too-good-for-the-rest-of-us college bitch."

"It wasn't like that! I needed to get out from under my daddy's shadow. Make it on my own. You would know that if you'd 'a just talked to me, instead of pushin' me away. I always intended on comin' back to Atlanta... back to you."

Daryl's heart stuttered in his chest, and he let out a breath like he'd been punched. She was telling the truth. He could see it in her eyes. It was too much. He spun away from her. "You deserve better than a piece 'a shit, like me."

"You're an idiot, Daryl Dixon, but you're not a piece 'a shit." He stiffened when her arms snaked around his waist from behind. "Just tell me the truth."

"Truth..." Daryl shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest. He couldn't lie to her. Daryl Dixon was a lot of things, but a liar wasn't one of 'em. Beth kept holding him, pressing her cheek against his back. He finally stilled, arms limp at his sides. "Truth is, you were right," he half mumbled. "I missed you so bad when you were gone." It was her turn to tense. Daryl covered her arms with his, holding her to him. "I figured you'd run off to Virginia and some hot shot fed would scoop you up. Thought it'd be better to just go ahead and let ya' go. Thought it might hurt less that way..." He shook his head. "I was wrong."

"Yeah, you were."

Daryl felt her heart pounding against his back. It matched the runaway rhythm of his own. "I ain't no good for ya' Beth. What I want and what's best just ain't the same thing."

Beth pulled away from him then, jaw set in determination. "Look at me, Daryl."

He threw his head back and sighed. "Look… At… Me," she repeated, and he turned, eyes to the sky, hands deep in his pockets. Well, that wasn't gonna' fly, Beth decided. She stepped into his space. Cradled his cheeks in her hands, forcing his eyes to hers. "You're a good man, Daryl Dixon, and you can trust me on that because I know you better than anybody."

His entire being softened. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. Beth prayed he believed her. She lowered her hands to his chest. "Do you remember when you were teaching me to use your crossbow, and I said something about bein' more likely to shoot myself in the foot than I was to shoot a rabbit?" His lip twitched a little at the memory. "Do you remember what you said to me?"

He frowned at her, not sure where she was going with this.

"You said, 'nah, you got this, girl. I believe in ya'," Beth said in her best Daryl Dixon impression. "No one ever believed in me, for me… before you, Daryl. I hear you in my head, and it gives me strength."

"You don't need me, Beth."

"You're wrong. I do need you... I want you."

The air around them hummed, and Daryl's heart slammed against his chest. He thought about running, but the way Beth was looking at him had him rooted in place. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were impossibly wide, beckoning him to her.

His hands found her hips on their own accord and slid slowly up and under her shirt to her waist, thumbs brushing lightly over soft, heated skin. She was so damn beautiful. More than that, she was smart and tough and _good_. He just couldn't figure what the hell it was she saw in him.

She brushed the hair out of his eyes with fingers as soft as a spring rabbit's pelt. He watched her studying him. "You have a beautiful face," she whispered. He would have scoffed had he not been so completely mesmerized by her touch. She trailed her fingers lightly over his eyebrow and followed the hard line etched deep between his eyes, down and over the crook of his nose. She wondered, not for the first time, how and when he had broken his nose.

She cupped his face in her hands and smoothed her thumbs over his cheek bones. When her eyes found his, he was the one to close the distance between them. He kissed her softly, sliding his lips gently over hers. It was slow and sincere. The world around them faded, and time bent to their will, existing only for them.

Beth's fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him closer. As their tongues tasted, explored, and tangled together, Daryl slipped his arms around her waist and splayed his fingers against her back. A soft moan spilled from her lips and he knew, in that moment, he would spend the rest of his days doing whatever it took to pull noises like that from her as often as he could.

The need for oxygen forced them apart, both panting and flushed. Lightheaded, Beth held tight to Daryl's shoulders. "You a'right?" he asked, voice deep and rough.

Beth licked her lips and nodded. A brilliant smile painted her beautiful face, nearly knocking him on his ass. "Better now, thank you."

"Best get back upstairs. Gettin' late."

Beth wasn't sure what she was expecting to happen when they reached their doors, but she figured she would let Daryl take the lead. He had slipped his hand over hers in the elevator, and Beth had weaved her fingers between his. She was surprised when he lifted their joined hands and ghosted his lips over her knuckles. When they reached his door, Daryl dropped her hand to fish out his key card. Beth made to continue on toward her door, but Daryl's arm shot out from his side, grabbing her wrist and spinning her back to him.

"Where you goin', Greene," he gruffed and hauled her into his chest. She giggled, and Daryl thought it was the sweetest damn thing he had ever heard.

She swayed back and forth lazily in his arms. Daryl swept an errant curl from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "So, we headed to Mansfield in the mornin'," he asked.

"I think that's our best bet, don't you?"

"Mmmm. I'm gonna' call Rick. Check in."

"I think I'll grab a shower. Figure out our route for tomorrow." The way her lithe fingers continued to play with the top button of his shirt told him she was as reluctant to let go as he was. Beth caught his eyes and pinned him with her gaze. They stilled, and her hands flattened on his chest. His world narrowed and focused only on her. He kissed her softly, almost playfully, and it shocked him how natural, how right, it felt to hold her and kiss her and let all of those walls he hid behind fall away.

When his fingers tightened on her hips, Beth snaked her arms around his neck and tugged him closer. The slide of his tongue over hers sent a violent rush of heat to her core. She had been kissed before, but never so thoroughly. She melded into him fitting her soft curves to his hard lines. When desire threatened to carry them away, Daryl mustered all the strength he had to pull his lips from hers. She was quite the sight standing there in his arms with her plump, swollen lips and her flushed cheeks. It confounded him that he was the reason. The ding of the elevator had them pulling apart much too soon.

"Holler when you're settled," he mumbled, and Beth shivered at the low, breathy roughness of his voice.

It was all she could do to get her key card in the door. When she stepped across the threshold and Daryl heard the muffled click of the lock, he headed inside for a nice, cool shower of his own.

It was late when the sudden loss of light through the connecting doors caught her attention. Daryl had brought her takeout hours ago. He left it beside her on the bed and kissed her on the top of the head before retreating to his room and leaving her to her research.

Beth shut down her laptop and tiptoed to the connecting door. He was lying on his back across the bed in a black t-shirt and black boxer briefs, forearm throne over his eyes. Beth leaned against the doorframe and drank in the site of him. Her eyes traveled the length of his profile resting momentarily on what she could see of his rugged face. She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and wondered what it what feel like, skin to skin, beneath her hands. She could see a sliver of naked skin just above the waistband of his boxers. The temptation to slide her hand across his core was almost too much to resist. Her eyes slipped dangerously lower and a fire ignited low in her gut.

"Come 'ere," he rasped, and Beth eeped in surprise.

"You scared the begeezers out of me," she giggled. "I thought you were asleep."

He chuckled, low and deep, eyes still masked by his forearm. The smirk he was wearing disappeared when he sat up and saw her standing in the doorway. She wore a light blue pajama tank with narrow satin straps and matching shorts that hung low on her hips. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair, a riotous mass of damp curls, shimmered in the soft light from the bedside lamp. Daryl had never wanted anything in his life like he wanted her.

He took his time as he raked his eyes from her eyes to her lips, pausing at her small, pert breasts, down to her hips and across the expanse of her long, athletic legs. He wondered, not for the first time, what those legs would feel like tangled up with his own.

Beth was naive at best when it came to men, but even she could see the want in his eyes. The air around them nearly crackled with electricity. A tingle ran up her spine and through her heart culminating in the soft swell of her breasts. She had never seen his eyes so dark. They drew her to him like a moth to a flame.

When she reached him, she squared herself between his knees, and Daryl cupped her hips. The little circles he traced with his thumbs had her twitching in his hold. She ran trembling fingers through his hair making sure to sweep his bangs out of his eyes. He looked up at her through pupils blown wide with desire. Beth shifted forward placing one knee and then the other on either side of his thighs, effectively straddling his lap. Daryl's hands slipped beneath her shirt and splayed flat against her back while his lips went to work on her neck and shoulder. Beth arched into him, fingers scraping his scalp, drawing him closer.

In one deft move, Daryl had her on her back beneath him. He held her in place with a hard stare. "You sure 'bout this?"

Beth's foot slid up the back of his leg opening herself to him in reply.

" _Beth_..." She had never heard her name whispered in such a way. It was a question, a warning, and a prayer all in one.

"I'm sure that I want you, Daryl". And he didn't doubt it, but he also knew that they needed to take things slow.

Beth had asked him once when they were hunting together if he had ever been in love. He had given her an honest, if slightly irritated, "no". They were walking together through the woods looking for tracks. Usually Beth was pretty quiet in the woods, but that day she was feeling particularly chatty. She had proceeded then to ask him if he had ever had a serious girlfriend. "Why you askin' me that," he said, never taking his eyes from the forest floor.

"'Cause I know that if you ever fall in love with someone, you're gonna' love 'em forever. I'm just wonderin' if your heart is still available."

She just about knocked him out of his boots. How in the hell did she know things like that about him? Beth walked on ahead oblivious to his sudden inability to move or think or maybe even breath. When she asked him straight up if he had ever had sex, he snapped to.

His gut reaction was to puff up and give her a loud, "Hell yeah, I've had sex." Anybody else askin' probably would have gotten a solid punch to the face just for the hell of it. But this was Beth, and she wasn't asking to judge or to be nosey. She was asking because she cared to know.

"I'm a grown man, Beth. What do you think?"

"I think I'm a grown woman, and I've never had sex."

You could have knocked him over with a feather. Was she trying to kill him? He stopped walking and Beth turned back to him with a little smirk on her face. "You surprised to hear that?"

Shock and awe. He was speechless. He shrugged his answer and mumbled something about it not being any of his damn business.

Beth just giggled. "I'm not ashamed of waiting to fall in love before I have sex. I think me and you are the same. Once I fall in love, that's it."

Her smirk grew into a grin. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Ain't goin' to neither."

"Oh come on, Daryl. I know it's different for men. You ever been with anybody special?"

Daryl thought about the nameless, faceless women he had been with. Wham, bam, and thank you mam pretty much summed it up. His choices were usually made by Merle and alcohol. Since he had cleaned himself up and become a cop, there had been very few women in his life, certainly no one special… not until now. He couldn't imagine at the time that Beth could ever see him as anything more than a friend. He had racked his brain trying to figure out why she seemed to like spending time with him at all. He couldn't really tell you how or when she had become such a huge part of his life. She had just sort of snuck up on him, unexpected, but now he couldn't remember what life was like without her.

"Nah, nobody special."

Her grin grew again, morphing into the brightest, most beautiful smile he had ever seen. She looked like sunshine standing there in front of him and he knew, right then and there, he wouldn't be able to survive without her light.

Looking at her now, trembling beneath him, he knew she was right. He was gonna' love her for the rest of his life, which meant there was plenty of time for this thing between them to unfold. He didn't want her first time to be in a hotel, in the middle of a tough case, when she was feeling vulnerable. He didn't want her to ever regret her first time.

"I want ya' to stay in here with me tonight. Jus' wanna' feel ya' next to me."

Hurt flashed in her eyes. "You don't want to be with me?"

"'Course I wanna' be with ya', girl... You're my somebody special. Don't ya' know that?"

Beth knew exactly what he meant. A soft smile graced her face.

"But I ain't gonna' have your first time be in no damn hotel room."

She giggled and Daryl actually smiled. Beth traced his jawline with her thumb. When she lifted her head and tugged him toward her, he was powerless to resist. She kissed him tenderly, opening her mouth to him with the softest mew. Daryl lowered himself to her. Melted into her. Lost in her kiss. Her hands slid to his back, and her leg tightened around his waist. He pulled back just enough to see her face. "Beth... We gotta' stop or I won't be able to."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and nodded. Daryl sat back and pulled the covers down next to her. Beth lifted her hips and scooted in against the cool sheets. They soothed her heated skin and caused her to shiver. "You cold?" he asked as he slid under the covers next to her and pulled her tight against him.

"Hmmm," was all she answer.

She pillowed her head on his chest and boldly threw her leg over his. Daryl's grip tightened on her hip. "Careful, girl."

Beth giggled again and nuzzled the crook of his neck.

"Listen," he said, and Beth could tell by the tone of his voice that he was serious, "I want you to watch yourself. 'Least until we can figure out what Blake's got ta' do with this som' bitch we're chasin'. You fit the profile, and I ain't ashamed to say it scares the hell out 'a me."

Beth covered his hand with her own where it lay over his heart.

"Promise me, Beth."

"I promise."

**A/N: Well that was a long one, but it was particularly fun to write! Would really appreciate knowing what you think!**


	9. To Survive the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First half = Sophia and the bad guy. It's meant to be intense. Contains potential triggers. Please see the warning at the beginning of the chapter.  
> Second half = All Bethyl Sweetness!!

**WARNING:** The first half of this chapter contains elements of torture, fear, violence, pain, physical abuse, the threat of sexual assault, physical illness, mental illness, and delusions… The second half is ALL Bethyl sweetness (you could get a toothache)

**Chpt 9: To Survive the Tide**

Sophia woke to a throbbing headache, the kind that leaves you dizzy and nauseous in its wake. She lay perfectly still in the dim, quiet apartment listening for any sign that he might be near. She was on her side, knees tucked beneath her chin, on a thin comforter next to the wall. The same 3 by 8 area she had been trapped in for the last how many days, she couldn't say. Unfolding her legs sent shards of pain streaking through her knees and back. She tapped down the vicious rush of bile and waited for her vision to clear. Sweat beaded across her forehead, and she vaguely wondered if she had a concussion. She gingerly ran her fingers along the ridges of her cranium, wincing when they caught in the tangles and pulled against her scalp. Her self-evaluation continued across her eyes and down her cheeks. She hurt everywhere, no reprieve, but somewhere in the fog of her brain, a light flickered, and she realized her hands were free of the duct tape from before. Finding the kind of strength that only rallies in desperation, she pushed and pulled herself to a sitting position. The room spun, and this time she gagged sending her cascading forward, landing hard on her swollen wrists. White lights exploded against a black canvas behind her eyes. She drew in deep, pointed breaths willing her stomach to calm and her vision to settle. Slowly, the legs of the bedside table came into focus. She realized two things simultaneously. One, that was where he kept the big knife, and two, this was likely her only chance at survival.

Her heart sped to a painful cadence, a desperate plan begging to take shape in her addled brain. She inched closer to the table. Slow, steady, painful, and quiet. Her wrists throbbed, restored circulation causing them to swell and pit. Her feet ached, worse than they had before, but she did not think he had done anything else to damage them. Out of nowhere, her mom's voice floated through her head, "the second day is always the worst." She prayed her mom was right because anything worse than this would surly kill her. The duct tape, still tightly wound around her ankles, cut deeper with every move. She had to stop and disentangle her legs from the fitted, silk, floor-length evening gown she now wore. She shivered and nearly retched again at the thought of his hands touching her unconscious body while he changed her clothes. The blue evening gown had a plunging neck line and a low, revealing scoop in the back. The length made forward movement extremely difficult, but she managed to scoot and roll until she made it to the table.

Sophia reached for the knob on the drawer. She had to focus her aim against the uncontrollable tremors that racked her hands. Finding purchase, she pulled, but the table was old, and the wood was warped. She needed leverage to force the drawer open. Heart hammering in her chest, she lowered her head to the floor and peaked under the bed. The front room was dimly lit by the light from the uncovered window. She could see dust bunnies swirling in the hall, but no shadows, no movement. She pulled herself to her knees, breathing hard, exhausted by her efforts. Her eyes slipped closed against the newest wave of nausea.

"There's nothing in there you need," he hissed.

A frustrated and terrified scream tore from the back of her throat. She threw herself at the bedside table and jerked the drawer open. Adrenaline pulled the drawer from its track and sent its contents crashing down around her. He sprung forward like a spider, all legs and arms, with a predatory grin. Spotting the knife on the floor, Sophia dove at it wildly. He grabbed her ankles and yanked her back. She stiffened against the blinding pain and cried out again. He rolled her underneath him and crawled across her to reclaim the knife. A hard knee to the gut and another to her chest left her gasping for air. Knife in hand, he yanked her up by her shoulders and flung her against the wall. Sophia slid to the ground with a resonating thump.

"You always do this," he seethed. The snarl that pulled at the corner of his lip was full of loathing, but his dead eyes terrified her the most. Sophia curled in on herself, and her eyes slid closed.

"You're not worth the effort, Andy," he said and nudged her chin with his boot. "As a matter of fact, I think play time is over." He squatted down next to her and ran the back of his hand the length of her bare arm. Pausing to watch his fingers wind their way down to her elbow and back up to her shoulder. "Maybe you and I can work something out. A win / win for both of us. What do you think, Andy? You're not a fighter, are you?"

Sophia shook her head, eyes still tightly shut. She was ready to do whatever he wanted if it meant this whole nightmare might be over sooner rather than later. He played with the thin strap of her dress. Running the silk through his fingers. Testing the pull on the bodice as he wiggled the strap back and forth. "If you don't fight, that little prick Gareth will never know. Neither will Dawn. It can be our little secret." 

His hand slipped lower following the neckline of her dress, and Sophia shrunk into a tighter ball on the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees and prepared herself for the next onslaught of abuse. But nerve shattering scream sent her bolt upright instead. Gareth or Gorman or whoever the hell he was in that moment, fell to the floor in a heap, grabbing and pulling at his hair. The way he fell, Sophia was sure that someone must have hit him in the head with something. A surge of hope cleared her focus, but no one was there for the rescue. She remembered the knife. Searched the floor desperately to find it. Caught sight of the hilt, peeking out from beneath his calf. He rolled to his knees, gagging and retching on all fours. Sophia saw her chance. She grabbed the knife and went to work frantically sawing at the layers of duct tape pinning her ankles painfully together. The binding snapped and adrenaline propelled her toward the bedroom door. The length of the dress wrapped around her knees and calves, halting her progress. She twisted and turned, clawed at the fabric, kicking her feet franticly against it. The seam gave way and Sophia ripped it the rest of the way to her hip. She rolled back to her knees and bolted feverishly on all fours down the hall. She focused on the front door, ignoring the searing pain in her feet and wrists, fighting to hold the nausea at bay. She reached for the doorknob, freedom in her grasp, only to be jerked away cruelly by a rough hand in her hair. Another shot of adrenaline streaked through her veins, masking the pain. Doubling down on her will to live, she kicked and screamed and scratched and punched at the man keeping her prisoner in the filthy apartment littered with trash and insanity. 

"You have to stop!" he screamed and pinned her to the floor. Sophia writhed beneath him, her cheek trapped against the sticky carpet, arms imprisoned beneath his shins. She fought in vain to draw air into her lungs, the weight of him on her back too much to allow them to expand. "I said stop," he commanded, pinching the back of her neck so hard she thought it might snap. Sophia stilled and felt the last of her fight float away. His grip loosened and she felt him relax against her. He leaned forward and gently brushed the hair from her face.

"You can't leave," he whispered in her ear. "We gave you food and beautiful clothes. Saved you from a dying world. You're safe here as long as you cooperate. Earn your keep. Make Gareth happy, and Gorman won't come back. He won't have too. You understand?"

Sophia nodded, too exhausted to argue. She wondered who he was now. Dawn maybe? She couldn't be sure, but she knew she had met at least three personalities, maybe four. 

He pushed off his knees and drug her to her feet, spun her around to face him. The wave of nausea was too much this time. It soaked his pants and covered his shoes. He jumped back and Sophia fell to her knees, hands slipping in the vomit on the floor. 

"You stupid, stupid girl!" He grabbed her chin and jerked her neck back, forcing her eyes to his face. "Look at me when I speak to you." 

Sophia's eyes rolled to the back of her head. He slapped her hard across the cheek and she collapsed on her side.

"You're weak and pathetic. Why Gareth needs you, I will never understand. The sooner you learn your place the better off we'll all be." 

Hours later, Sophia woke to a familiar singing. A whispered hymn or maybe a lullaby floated on the air. He was cradling her across his lap, gently rocking her back and forth to the slow rhythm of the song. She somehow knew this was not the first time he had held her like this. A befuddled memory echoed the present and danced across her mind. She knew she was safe, at least for now. 

"Nana's got ya'," he whispered tenderly against her cheek. It was comforting and kind. Sophia relaxed against him. "You just rest, sweet girl. I'll protect ya' for as long as I can. Best ta' keep your eyes closed. Drift on back to sleep, child. Nana's got ya' now." The soft singing began again. The soothing melody lulling Sophia back toward sleep. She briefly wondered if she was dying and smiled, hoping this was the gentle spirit sent to lead her home.

**~TWD~**

"I just can't see how Blake could be actively involved. I don't think he's capable of the things we've seen. I've been working this case with him for months now and…" Beth looked at him, frustration etched in her features. "There has to be a reasonable explanation."

"Yeah, well, 'till we get one, you keep yourself close," Daryl said and squeezed her hand. They were standing in the hotel elevator, hand in hand, and it should have shocked Daryl how right and natural it felt, but it didn't. He was too damn happy to care.

He had awoken this morning curled protectively around Beth just as the sun considered rising. Blond curls tickled his nose. His fingers tingled from where Beth lay pillowed on his bicep stifling the flow of circulation. He couldn't remember a better night's sleep or a more perfect morning.

In those moments between sleep and wake when limbs are heavy and the mind is fuzzy, Beth reached for Daryl's hand where it lay lightly on her hip. She pulled it snugly around her chest, cupping his hand between hers at her chin. Daryl nuzzled her neck, burying his nose in her hair. She giggled and stretched. Turned toward him with a smile bright enough to rival the rising sun. Daryl couldn't help but return her smile with a small, contented one of his own. Blessed was not a word that Daryl had ever thought to use when considering his life, at least not until now.

Beth skimmed a single finger along his jaw and sighed. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't wanted this with Daryl. The first time she had ever seen him, he was pitching a fit in the Chief of Detective's office. She had just graduated from the police academy, and she was visiting her daddy at his office downtown. A tall man with wavy hair and a thick beard was holding back the most ruggedly beautiful man she had ever seen. That beautiful man was on fire at present, screaming at another guy across the room, "I'm gonna' stomp your ass, Walsh!", and pointing animatedly over his friend's shoulder. Beth knew the man holding him back had to be a friend. The one screaming would have already leveled him if he wasn't.

She remembered his eyes. They were narrow and hard, dark with his temper. And those arms! She had never really noticed a man's arms before. But great day, how could you not notice arms like his? His hair was shorter back then, but the brush of facial hair at his chin the same. She had watched the chaos unfold through her daddy's big window overlooking the squad room. She was completely entranced by the man in the sleeveless shirt and leather vest.

When her daddy, Chief Hershel Greene, finally joined her in his office, she looked to him for an explanation.

"That's Detective Dixon," he said. The man holding him back is his partner, Rick Grimes."

"What's he so mad about?" she asked. Her eyes never leaving the man in question.

"Detective Walsh, there, promised a confidential informant protection he couldn't deliver. We found the CI washed up on the bank of the Chattahoochee this morning."

"Was the CI a friend of his? Detective Dixon?"

"I don't think so. But it didn't set right with him."

Beth turned to look at her father.

"Daryl and Rick are a rare breed… They care."

Beth had grown up around the business of police work. She knew it could make a person jaded and cold. When Beth expressed her desire to work in law enforcement, Hershel wondered if her heart could handle the depravity of man if she followed in his footsteps. He told her it had almost been too much for him in the beginning. Told her he used to disappear in the bottom of a whisky bottle when things got bad. Told her it made him mean. Told her about the ultimatum her mama gave him when he stumbled in too drunk to walk straight on her first birthday. Hershel made Beth promise that if she decided to follow in his footsteps, she would fight like hell to hold on to her faith. To keep her compassion and her tender heart no matter what the job threw at her. He made her promise to let him know if it all got to be too much. She had happily made that promise in earnest believing herself strong enough to manage. In truth, her faith had been tested on more than one occasion since dawning the uniform. She had tasted white hot hatred at the indifference of evil. She had been tempted to let go of her faith and succumb to the notion of every man for himself. But every time that happened, the beautiful man in the leather vest had been there to remind her of who she is in her heart, where it matters most. To remind her of what she was made of. " _You got this, girl,"_ had become her mantra. Those four little words tattooed across her heart one spring morning in the deep Georgia woods by a man carrying a crossbow and wearing a familiar scowl.

The day Beth first laid eyes on Daryl was the same day she first crossed paths with Detective Shane Walsh. On her way to the elevator, long after Daryl and Rick had gone, Walsh fell in step next to her in the hall. She realized very quickly that he was not a man she wanted to know. He was forward and suggestive, and it only got worse when he put two and two together and realized just whose daughter she was.

Things got especially bad after she joined Intelligence and eventually started spending all her free time with Daryl. Daryl and Walsh shared a mutual dislike for one another. The Unit had gathered at Lincoln's, their local cop bar, to unwind after a tough case. Beth was playing darts when she heard Daryl's voice over the thinning crowd. "You better watch your mouth, Sunshine!"

She turned just in time to see Daryl wipe the smirk off Walsh's face with a tooth rattling right hook. Daryl wouldn't tell her what it was all about, but she found out later, from Rick, that Walsh had made some inappropriate comments about her. He didn't elaborate, and Beth didn't ask, but she could just imagine what was said. The next time she saw Walsh, she walked right up to him and slapped the snot out of him, hard across the face. She hadn't had any trouble out of him since Daryl had shut him up at the bar, but she still felt like she needed her say in the matter just the same. A slap seemed to drive her point home just fine.

In the cocoon of their hotel bed, Daryl lay perfectly still, his eyes never leaving Beth's. They were both lost in boxed and stored memories that neither had visited in a long, long time. The early morning sun cast Beth in an ethereal glow that highlighted the golden streaks in her hair. It drew Daryl back to the present and to the promise of what still could be. There were things that had to be said, however, if they stood any chance of making those possibilities a reality. Daryl figured it was about damn time for him to face up and 'fess up to his mistakes. 

"I'm sorry."

Beth frowned and tucked her hand under her cheek. He missed her touch immediately. "For what?"

"I acted like a stupid ass jerk... before... when you said you was leavin'"

"Oh." She had to calm her racing heart. She was sure he had been about to apologize for kissing her, for inviting her into his bed.

"I jus'... I never wanted anything before... Never needed nobody, 'least not until you showed up... Then when ya' said you was leavin'...," he shrugged and looked away from her. "It hurt, ya' know?"

"I do know. It hurt like hell losin' you."

His eyes snapped back to hers.

"I'm sorry too," she said. "I still regret walkin' away from you that night. I should 'a never left like that."

Beth had finally cornered him, one week after he had kissed her and two weeks before she was set to leave for Quantico. She had driven out to his little house just outside of Atlanta and banged on the door until he finally answered.

"What!" he barked when he opened the door.

"You're gonna' tell me what the hell's goin' on with you, that's what!" she had fired right back at him.

"Hell you talkin' about, girl?"

"Oh no you don't, Daryl Dixon! We've come way too far for that. You can't just kiss me and then turn around and avoid me for a week."

"You kissed me, princess," he spat.

Beth drew in a tight breath and tried to get a handle on her temper. "Daryl," she pleaded, "we're friends first, right?" He didn't answer, but Beth carried on anyway. "Look, maybe we could just forget about the other night and get back to how things used to be."

"You done slummin' it then?"

Beth reeled back from him as if she had been punched. Quick, ragged breaths racked her chest and her hands balled into fists by her sides. "That's what you think," she asked around the lump in her throat.

"What do you want from me, girl?"

"I want you to stop actin' like you don't give a damn about anythin'. Like nothin' we went through matters. It's bullshit, and you know it!"

"Only bullshit I hear's comin' from your mouth. Maybe I'm done with _you._ You ever think about that?"

The soft, anguished cry that escaped her chest nearly took him to his knees. But the walls he had worked so hard to build for most of his life, the ones that Beth had been chipping away at for the last year or more, were still too tall for him to see past… especially when his heart was shattered and he was on the floor bleeding out.

Beth knew he was hurting. She had seen that clearly in his eyes when she told him about her acceptance to Quantico. She also knew how surly he could get when he was riled up, but this... the things he was spouting off at her... they hurt. They hurt like hell. It didn't matter what her brain knew to be true, her heart was in pieces, and Daryl was the one responsible.

"Screw you! Your stupid ass is gonna' miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon."

"What makes ya' think I'll miss you, huh? What makes ya' think I care?"

"You don't mean that," she whispered, her voice thick with heartbreak.

"You don't know nothin' about me." His voice was so full of disdain, Beth's response died on her lips. She just didn't have it in her to fight with him like this. If he didn't care, she would just have to accept that fact and move on.

Beth spun on her heels and stomped to her jeep without so much as a second glance. The blood was rushing so loudly in her ears, she completely missed the desperate "Beth..." that shot from his lips as she slammed the door.

Daryl shuttered against the memory. Forced his focus on the Beth here in front of him. The beautiful, fierce creature tucked in under the covers next to him.

"Naw, you had ever' right to leave. I said some terrible things to you that night... You gotta' know though. I didn't mean 'em."

Beth smiled at him tenderly and ran her thumb across his lower lip. "I do, now."

Daryl spun a stray curl around his finger and gave it a gentle tug. She flowed to him like water, pooling on top of him when he rolled to his back. Her lips connected with his, peppering him with quick playful kisses. He dragged his hand across her rear to the small of her back and snugged her against him. She responded with a long languid kiss, teasing his mouth open with her tongue. The hand in her hair pulled her tighter to him, and Beth wrapped her leg around his, pressing against his thigh.

Daryl rolled them over and settled on top of her, never breaking their heated kiss. Beth drug her thigh up his side and bent her knee at his hip, arching into him. He went to work on her neck igniting a trail of fire as he snaked his way to her collar bone. Every nerve in her body tingled, delightfully igniting all her synapsis.

His nose ghosted between her breasts, teasing her into a frenzy. Rough, calloused hands slipped beneath her sleep tank and inched the hem higher. Beth's hands ghosted over his shoulders and settled above her head. She scrunched the sheets in her fists, anchoring herself to the bed in a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. But when his thumbs scraped across her breasts and his lips landed on her belly, she was a gonner. Her hands flew to his head and tangled in his hair, fingers scraping against his scalp.

 _"Daryl_ ," she whimpered, trembling beneath him.

Daryl suddenly remembered his promise. Her first time was not gonna' be in no damn hotel room, not if he could help it. With great effort, more than any man should have to muster, he heaved himself up and hovered over her. Beth's shirt was bunched just below her breasts, her excitement evident beneath the thin material. Flushed cheeks and blown pupils further evidence of exactly what she wanted from him.

"Damn, Beth. What are ya' doin' to me, girl?"

Beth sucked the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, and Daryl groaned from the effect it had on every part of him. But before Beth could answer his question, the shrill ring of his cell phone had them both jumping. Daryl pinned her beneath him as he reached across to grab the phone.

"Yeah?"

She giggled at his gruff greeting, and Daryl shot her a playfully annoyed scowl.

"Nah, I'm up. What do ya' got?"

Beth scooted out from underneath him and headed back to her room, giddy grin and all. As much as she would have enjoyed spending the day in bed with Daryl, (because clearly the man had talents she knew nothing about before this morning), they had a job to do. Today that job centered on investigative work in Mansfield, Pennsylvania. Time to shower and focus. " _You got this, girl!"_

**So, both halves of this chapter took forever to perfect. Not sure which is harder to write, creepy action or Bethyl feels. I'm super proud of how it tuned out, but also really nervous to present it. Please, let me know what you think! All comments, criticisms, and suggestions are greatly appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!**


	10. Love Divides

**Chpt 10: Love Divides**

Thirty minutes outside of Scranton, Daryl stopped to fill up the rental car. Beth watched him through her side view mirror. He was wearing dark jeans and a dark gray button-down. The top two buttons were left enticingly undone, and his sleeves were rolled up exposing tan, muscular forearms. He squinted into the cold, late October wind. When he turned to check the pump, he caught her watching him in the mirror and smirked. Busted, Beth rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the heat rising up her neck and across her cheeks. She popped out of the passenger side. "I'm gonna' grab a water. You want anythin'?"

"Yeah, I'll take a sweet tea, thanks."

Daryl watched her walk toward the station. She was wearing gray slacks and a pink, fitted turtle neck sweater. It hugged her in all the right places. Her beauty was timeless, unobstructed by heavy make-up or pretense. Her hair hung loose in long waves that bounced when she walked. The subtle sashay in her hips was driving him to distraction and making his jeans fit a little tighter than what was comfortable. He swallowed hard against a dry throat and turned his face into the Pennsylvania wind, hoping it might cool him off.

Beth could see him watching her through the reflection in the glass door. " _Hah! You're as bad as I am,_ " she mused.

On her way back to the car, she stopped to answer her phone, deciding instead to ignore the call when she saw the caller ID. Zach would just have to wait.

"You thought anymore 'bout visitin' with your family while we're here?" Daryl asked.

A hopeful gleam sparked in Beth's eyes. "It would be nice to see them."

"Lock Haven ain't that far from Mansfield. Maybe we could head that way when we're done."

"Maybe," she said hesitantly. "I mean... It would be nice, but you don't have to come with me if you don't want to."

"I want to," he said and glanced in her direction. She was frowning and it seemed like maybe she had something she wanted to say. That's when doubt flooded over him. "Unless you don't want me to come."

"No," she said and shook her head. Hurt flashed in Daryl's eyes. "I mean yes!"

"It's a'right. I don't gotta' go."

"No! Daryl, that's not what I meant. Let me start over," she said and steadied herself with a deep breath. "Yes, I want you to come with me. It's just... my aunt... I told her about you. I used to talk to her about us, before, when we worked together. She knew how I felt... how things went with us. She also knows that we're working together on this case. I just wasn't sure how to introduce you, you know? I didn't want things to be awkward. Then last night happened and... I want you to meet them. I want them to meet you..."

"You sure," he asked sincerely.

"I'm positive," she said. "When my mother died, Aunt Deanna came and stayed with us for a couple of months. That's when we got to be so close. I talk to her about everything... like I would my mama if she was still around."

Daryl reached for her hand and pulled it over, fingers intertwined, to rest on his leg. "Mansfield then Lock Haven. It's settled." The smile that blossomed across her face nearly stole his breath. He wanted to be the one responsible for that smile for the rest of his life.

**~TWD~**

"The Protective Services office was located in the court house at the town square. It should be right up here," she pointed. Daryl pulled the car to a stop in front of a beautiful historical building built out of deep red brick with oversized white columns and a mile of stairs. A marker in front commemorated "the incorporation of Mansfield in 1857 as planned and established by Asa Mann in 1804."

Beth ran her fingers over the lettering on the marker. "There's so much history in this part of the country."

"Hmmm," Daryl agreed.

"The only thing I know about Mansfield is that people claim the very first night time football game, ever, was played here under electric lights on September 28, 1892," she said very matter-of-factly.

"That so?" he said with a smirk

Beth caught the look and grinned. "My aunt is a history professor, and my mom's birthday was September 28th so the factoid stuck." She shrugged and spun on her heels. He watched as she trotted up the courthouse steps. A warmth settled in his heart, and it nearly had him swaying with the weight of all he was feeling.

Inside the Protective Services office, Beth and Daryl were directed to Mr. Charles Craig. Mr. Craig had been the office's senior representative for longer than anyone could say. While he did not remember Gareth West in particular, he was happy to pull the file and take a look, especially when Beth produced the federal court order.

"Let's see," he said as he plopped down in his chair and pulled on his reading glasses. "Gareth William West entered the system as a three-year old when his mother passed away. Grandmother gave up custody rights. No father of record. No other immediate family. Looks like he was sent to foster care until the age of six when he was sent to the Tioga County Military Academy."

"He was sent to military school?" Beth asked, shocked.

"Children are rarely adopted past the age of five, especially boys. It's a sad fact, but it's true, Agent Greene. Tioga county houses ten boroughs and twenty-nine townships. Each year, the county tests all male foster children, ages six through nine, to assess their aptitude for science, math, and reading using a standardized test. Five children are granted a scholarship to the academy based on their scores. Mr. West was one of those children."

Beth sat speechless with a firm scowl in place.

"I assure you, Agent Greene, Tioga County Military Academy is a fine place for a boy to grow and learn. Mr. West received a premier education at no charge. That, coupled with military discipline, is exactly what a boy with no family and no connections needs. He was very lucky to have that opportunity."

Daryl could see Beth's temper rising like the color on her cheeks. "Any trouble at the military school," he asked.

"That I would not know."

"Thank you for your time," Daryl said.

Beth made it to the door before she stopped and spun. 

"I wonder how many of those boys would agree with you, Mr. Craig. Lucky is not the word I would choose. Children need to be loved and cared for, no mater what your test tells you about their aptitude in any subject."

**~TWD~**

At the Tioga County Military Academy, Beth and Daryl met with Ms. Eleanor Langston, secretary to Retired Major General Reginald Flannigan, headmaster. She had the file ready and waiting when they arrived.

"You can use the conference room across the hall," she said pleasantly and escorted them through two heavy oak doors.

Military swords and ancient guns encased in shadowbox frames hung along the walls. A river stone fireplace decorated the entire far end. The conference room table was made of heavy wood and ornately carved. Beth bet six men with arms like Daryl's couldn't lift it. The thick exposed beams overhead muffled the echoes of their footsteps and skewed the acoustics so that conversation settled in the center of the antique war room. Beth wondered what secrets it held.

Daryl spread the contents of the file on the table. "Photo," he said and passed Beth a 3x3 black and white photo of a young, dark haired cadet in uniform. The hat her wore sat low over his brow. The shadow it cast across his face obscured most of his features.

Beth reached for the photo. _"What happened to you,"_ she wondered as she studied the boy in front of her. The headmaster said West had no documented disciplinary action while attending the academy. Said he didn't have any close friends as far as he could remember, but he didn’t seem unhappy. He was focused and driven and a pleasant enough kid, but nothing too terribly special. All of his teachers said that same thing when interviewed by Beth and Daryl. Good kid. Good grades. Nothing stood out about him, good or bad. And no one had any idea what happened to him after graduation.

"Daryl, look at this," Beth said. "They must keep bank accounts here on campus. There's three years worth of statements here. No activity, but he still has $10,000.00 in an active account."

Daryl squinted over her shoulder, and Beth tried to tame the butterflies that took flight low in her gut. "Where the hell did a ward of the state get $10,000?"

"Good question."

He leaned in and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Be right back."

Beth continued to look through the papers stacked in front of her, trying to get a better sense of the boy in the photo. She wondered when, how, and why he became the man they were chasing.

Daryl stuck his head in the door. "We're headin' to the campus credit union."

Ms. Langston turned them over to Morris Atherton, CPA. He had been in charge of the credit union for nearly thirty years. He was a rotund gentleman, quite obviously not from a military background, and eager to help. He seemed very pleased to meet Beth in particular. "Yes, I remember Mr. West. He received $5000 in cash, via certified mail, every June, beginning in his first grade year."

"That's $60,000," Daryl surmised. "Lot 'a money."

"West was born in June. I saw it in his file," Beth said. "Someone must have sent him birthday money every year."

"I'm not sure about that, but I remember his deposits. Very few students stay here over the summer. Not a lot of activity during those months."

Beth looked at the most recent statement from Mr. Atherton. "Mr. West withdrew $54,000, everything he had, at graduation. $10,000 was deposited into his account one month later in June. Mr. Atherton, who opened this last letter and made the deposit?"

"It would have been signed and opened by the headmaster, then sent on to me."

"Mr. Atherton," Beth said again, but this time she used that sugar sweet voice of hers, "any chance you still have the letter?"

"It's likely that I do, Ms. Greene. We keep things like that in a lockbox just in case a cadet returns for their lost and found."

"Could we see it? Please?"

"Of course. I'll be right back," he said with a wink.

Daryl smirked at her when Mr. Atherton rushed off to retrieve the box.

"What?" she said and batted her eyes playfully.

Mr. Atherton returned holding two bright blue envelopes in his pudgy hands. Beth took them carefully from him, touching the envelopes with only the tip of her finger and thumb. "Postmarked Atlanta," she said, voice stilted. "Mr. Atherton, do you have a zip-lock bag or maybe a paper sack we could put these in, please?"

Beth's phone rang on the way back to the car. Daryl listened to the one-sided conversation and figured that Professor Morgan's secretary had been unable to retrieve the ID badge with Gareth's West's picture on it. 

"We still don't have a recent photo," Beth said when she hung up the phone.

"What're ya' thinkin'?"

"I think Blake is the Atlanta connection. He sent that money to West. What the hell, Daryl?"

"I think we need to visit the grandmother. I have her last known address in Mansfield."

Beth nodded, glad they were thinking the same thing. Daryl punched the rental in gear and they hit the road. It had taken them twenty minutes to get to the academy in Blossburg. It took them ten to make it back to Mansfield. Beth, however, was oblivious to time or place, so lost in her own thoughts. "What's the house number," she heard Daryl ask somewhat distantly in her brain.

"What?"

"House number. We're on Lee Street."

"Oh," she answered and grabbed her notepad. "It's 122."

The houses on Lee Street had seen better days. Most of them were in a general state of disarray, needing paint, gutter repair, and, in short, basic upkeep and attention. The yellow house at 122 was no exception. The wooden steps leading to the front porch had long ago collapsed. In their stead, someone had fashioned a ramp out of a single piece of plywood.

"Looks like my old neighborhood," he said with a hint of sadness. "Wonder if they got a moonshine shack out back," he with a smirk.

Beth laughed at that, thinking back to the one and only time she had ever been drunk. And, of course, that one and only time was with Daryl. When Merle died, she had gone with Daryl to his brother's place to sort through his things. Merle had taken over their dad's place when the brothers' father had finally passed away. There really hadn't been much to salvage outside of a motorcycle, a few tools, his mama's wedding ring, and a stash of moonshine in a little shed outback.

Daryl opened one of the mason jars and took a swig. His nerves were raw with the sudden loss of his brother and with all the things that had never been said between them. He passed the jar to Beth. She sniffed it, wrinkled her nose in protest, and passed it back to Daryl.

"You ever had moonshine before?"

"Ah, no. Blackberry wine is all I can confess too."

"Want some," he said and passed the jar back to her.

Beth smelled it again and looked at Daryl. The challenge he wore sparked her competitive determination. She tossed the moonshine back defiantly. Fire scalded her throat and chest. Her eyes went impossibly wide and she doubled over coughing and gagging against the burn.

"Shit, Beth!" Daryl said tossing the crate of moonshine to the side and grabbing Beth around the shoulders. "You can't just toss that stuff back like that... You a'right?"

Beth rested her palms on her knees and tried to catch her breath. When she spoke, her voice was rough and choked. "Damn that hurt."

"No shit," he agreed.

After a moment of coughing and spewing, Beth stood to her full height and sucked in a deep breath. She snorted when she saw Daryl looking at her as if she might spontaneously combust.

"I'm fine. Hand me that jar."

Daryl scowled at her, quietly refusing her request.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Daryl," she said and reached around him. "You gonna' drink with me or not?"

He watched her swallow down the tiniest sip and lick her lips when she was done. He wasn't quite sure what to think of his petite little friend. She certainly never failed to surprise him.

When the few belongings Merle owned were sorted into either the junk pile or the donation pile, Beth and Daryl loaded them up in the pickup. Beth climbed up into the bed of the truck and Daryl passed her the last of the boxes. Hands on her hips, she studied the two piles and nodded triumphantly. Satisfied with their work, she turned toward Daryl and stretched both arms out to him. He reached for her instantly and lowered her to him. Beth had just enough alcohol buzzing through her system to make her uncharacteristically brave when it came to the opposite sex, Daryl in particular. She giggled when her feet hit the ground and slid her arms behind his neck. "Thank you, Mr. Dixon," she sing-songed.

The tips of Daryl's ears turned red, but he kept his hands locked on Beth's tiny waist. She tilted her head and smiled contentedly, swaying back and forth in his arms like a leaf in the breeze.

"You're a happy drunk," Daryl teased, and Beth giggled again. She inched closer to him, her eyes bouncing back and forth between his. When her gaze slipped to his lips, and her fingers feathered through his hair, Daryl summoned every bit of control he could, and stepped back from her. He wasn't about to take advantage of a moonshine tipsy Beth, no matter what his heart wanted.

"Best make one more sweep 'a the place," he mumbled and deftly stepped around her toward the house.

It was early evening, and the cicadas were singing when they finally settled on the dilapidated back porch of his childhood home. Beth sat across from him leaning on a post, smiling like a cat that just ate all the cream.

"So, you grew up in this house?"

"Nah, we lived a few blocks over. First house caught on fire. Burned to the ground."

The smile slid from Beth's face, but there was no pity in her eyes. Even buzzed on moonshine, she knew that wasn't what he needed. "Was anyone home when it happened?"

"Yeah. Me and my mom," he said. "She passed out on the couch and dropped her smoke. Place lit up like a torch."

"Where were you?"

"Asleep in my bed. The fire woke me up. Sounded like somethin' wild... roarin' like a unholy beast or some shit. Hotter 'n hell. I tried to get to her, my mom, but 's too late." He spoke so softly, Beth had to lean toward him to hear. "Had to go out my bedroom window. Couldn't see. Couldn't breathe."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"I'm sorry," she said with genuine empathy for a little boy who lost his mama too soon.

Daryl shrugged it off. "Shit happens," he said with finality, and Beth didn't push. She never pushed, yet he found himself, more often than not, opening up to her anyway and saying way more than he meant to. Much to his surprise, he realized he never regretted telling her anything. She never judged him. Never used it against him. He guessed that's why the rest of his story flew from his mouth unbidden.

"Things got bad once we moved in here. Merle left, and it was just me and my old man."

"That when you got those scars?"

Daryl's head shot up. If looks could kill, Beth would have been dead three times over. "What the hell you know 'bout my scars?"

It was all she could do not to scurry back from that glare, but she knew he would never hurt her. "I saw 'em once... the ones on your back. You were splittin' wood behind the garage at your place. The radio was turned up, so you didn't hear me. I went back to my truck, and I honked to let you know I was there. When I came back around, you were still chopin' wood, but you had your t-shirt on. I figured you tell about it when you were ready. Hoped maybe you could trust me with it someday."

"I do trust ya'," he heard himself say, "but them scars ain't nobody's business but mine."

"You're right. They're yours to carry, and I'm not askin' you to tell me about 'em. It's just... Well, I guess I feel like I've been lyin' to ya', not lettin' you know I saw 'em."

He couldn't figure her out. They had been close for near on a year and she was still a mystery. A beautiful enigma that he found he trusted completely. Before he even realized what he was doing, he started unloading the secret burden he had carried his entire life. "He used to take me to the shed, beat the shit out 'a me with his belt. After my mom died, there wadn't nobody around to stop him..."

They sat in companionable silence, content in simply being there together. Beth stretched her leg out and nudged Daryl with the tip of her Chuck Taylor's. "We should tear it down. Take those big sledge hammers we found and beat that shed to the ground."

Daryl studied her for a minute, chewing on the inside of his lip while he did. She just sat there smiling at him, eyes bright and wide, waiting patiently for his decision. Those eyes followed him when he popped up from the porch floor and held out a hand to her. "Better get started 'fore it gets too late, and we wake up the whole damn neighborhood."

Beth's entire face lit up, and Daryl's heart stuttered in his chest. She took his hand and he hauled her up. He overestimated her weight and ended up pulling her tight against his chest. Beth smacked into him with a resounding "umph". The sweetest giggle bubbled up from her chest and her forehead landed softly right over his heart. She threaded her fingers through his and stepped back, pulling him with her down the stairs and around the back to the shed.

They spent the next two hours smashing walls, destroying bad memories, and banishing ghosts. When the last wall fell, Beth stepped back and flipped the whole mess off. Daryl was breathing hard, letting go of all the shed represented when Beth gently smacked him with her elbow and silently demanded that he join her in sending the whole thing straight to hell. He flicked his eyes back to the pile of rubble and felt a tug at the corner of his lip. When Daryl at last flipped off the pile of wood and memories, he made his peace. He grabbed Beth's hand and led her back to the pick-up feeling a thousand pounds lighter, all because of her. He knew, in that moment, that his heart was no longer his own.

A/N: So not the most exciting chapter, but hang in there, the next one is kind of fun! Thanks for reading!


	11. Someday Love Will Find You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY SINCERE APOLOGIES FOR MY ABSENCE! It's been a long many months and I was exhausted. All is well now and updates will be posted regularly.  
> Thank you so much for reading!

Chpt 11: Someday Love Will Find You

Daryl hopped up onto the dilapidated front porch and turned to help Beth. She took his outstretched hand and started up the makeshift ramp on her toes, brows furrowed in concentration. When it rocked back and forth like a seesaw over the single support beam that held it, Daryl lifted her effortlessly to him. Beth’s breath hitched at the sudden change in latitude. It had absolutely nothing to do with the ripple of Daryl’s biceps as they strained against his button down. Daryl, for his part, took a moment to enjoy the feel of her pressed against him before letting her go with a ghost of a smile.

Beth knocked on the door and listened for any noise from inside while Daryl peaked in through the filthy front window. He had a bad feeling about this place. Maybe it was just too close to what he was once used to. Whatever it was, it had him on edge.

“Daryl,” Beth said and backed away from the door. Her hand floated to the butt of her gun as did Daryl’s. He took two quick steps to Beth’s side just as Deloris West flung the front door open. The threat was real Daryl decided, and it was wearing a hot pink velour sweatsuit, holding a thin Virginia Slim between its lips and a Dr. Pepper in its hot pink taloned hand. _Terrifying_. Deloris quickly sized up Beth, head to toe, clearly unimpressed before turning her full attention to Daryl. At the looks of him, a puckered, come-hither smile bled across her face. Deloris parked her hip against the doorframe and took aim.

" _Oh shit_ ," Daryl thought. He had grown up with women like Deloris. At sixteen, his next-door neighbor, Ms. Veda Womble, had offered more than once to be his own personal Mrs. Robinson. Daryl had politely declined.

"Deloris Williams?" Beth asked, eyes wide.

The brassy blonde answered without so much as a second glance Beth's way. "That's right. Who's asking?”.

A forceful puff of smoke floated from the corner of Deloris’s mouth and dissipated around Beth’s wrinkled nose. Beth, bless her, refused to give Deloris a cough. "I'm Agent Beth Greene with the FBI, and this is Detective Daryl Dixon..."

"Pleased to meet you," Deloris purred shifting to the other hip and securing her cigarette safely between two fingers at her side. Beth had to take a small step back to avoid being singed. Deloris’s other hand shot toward Daryl, extended as if she were accepting a ring and a proposal from the man. Daryl pinched her fingertips and shook them rather awkwardly. Dropped her hand and shoved his deep in his pockets. Undaunted, Deloris raked her eyes over every inch of Daryl's physique. Licked her lips approvingly and stepped down onto the porch. She turned her back to Beth and settled herself a little too close to Daryl. So close, he could smell the liquor on her breath.

"What can I do for you, Detective?”

"Got a few questions for ya' 'bout your daughter and your grandson."

Deloris narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, mulling over his request. "I like the way you sound,” she said, “Your accent, I mean. I bet you are a real southern gentleman, aren't you? I'll tell you what," she offered in her best seductive slur. Patted his chest lightly with one hand. "I will tell you everything you want to know… for a small fee of course."

Deloris giggled like a schoolgirl, but Beth must have missed the joke. _Touch him again. I dare ya’_

Daryl answered with a hum and ventured a glance at Beth. One neatly plucked eyebrow arched into her hairline told him he better get on with it.

 _"This otta’ be good_ ," Beth thought to herself.

Deloris sidled up dangerously close to Daryl, so close that she was now technically leaning into him. Her Virginia Slim hand snaked its way up his bicep and landed on his shoulder. Beth suspected Daryl was the only thing keeping Deloris upright at the moment.

"Why don't you send your little friend over there to the corner store. Have her pick me up a case of something cold. The good stuff. And maybe a carton or two of Virginia Slims. Me and you can go in and talk. I'll answer any - question - you - want - to - ask," she teased and walked her fingers up his chest to the rhythm of her words.

"Ms. West," Daryl growled and gently sat her back on her heels.

"Deloris, honey. Call me Deloris," she purred and leaned against him again. "Don't look so worried, Detective. I don't bite. Not hard anyway. I just want to listen to you talk a little more. Besides, my offer is nonnegotiable."

Daryl looked at Beth again, half exasperated and half apologetic, but she understood. She stuck her hand out for the keys and gave Daryl a reassuring smile. "Beer and cigarettes. Anything else Ms. West?"

"Now that you mention it, why don't you bring me a couple of KitKat bars too. I just love those things”.

Beth's smile was all sugar and molasses. "KitKat bars. Yes, m'am."

Beth hopped off the porch and Daryl, reluctantly, followed Deloris inside. As bad as the outside of the house appeared, the inside was worse. It smelled like stale cigarettes, strong liquor, and hard living. Old White Castle bags and empty beer cans littered the floor and the coffee table. Daryl sat on the edge of a fold-out chair across from Deloris.

"You'll have to excuse the mess, Detective," she said around her cigarette. "My maid has the day off."

"I got a few questions about your daughter, if you don't mind," Daryl said trying to keep Deloris on topic.

"Not much to tell. She's been dead for twenty years or more."

" 'm sorry for your loss."

"No loss. She was crazy. Just like her father. They're both better off."

"Your daughter, Misty, she killed herself?"

"Yep," Deloris said and blew three perfectly formed smoke rings from her candy apple red lips. "Took a whole mess of pills right there in that bathroom," she said pointing towards the hall. Her face betrayed no emotion on the subject of her daughter’s death.

"Any idea why she did it?"

"Hell if I know. She started hearing voices, same as my husband. His started when he got back from Vietnam. I was sixteen when Misty was born. Dewey was home three weeks before he lost it. Four months later the bastard killed himself, and I was stuck raising that girl on my own."

Daryl stayed quiet, certain Deloris had more she wanted to say. He felt bad for her, really. Seemed like the cards she'd been dealt weren't all that different than his. Best he figured, his life could have turned out vastly different had it not been for his best friend Rick and the influence he and his family had on him as a teenager. Thank God for everyday miracles.

When Deloris at last spoke again, her voice was soft and distant. "Misty was a good girl. She worked hard. Made good grades in school. She even went to junior college. Got a two-year degree in office work or something. She was so pretty back then."

"She get work 'round here?"

"No. She moved to Allentown with two of her friends. Got a job at a coffee shop downtown."

Deloris took a long, steadying drag from her cigarette. Daryl got the feeling she hadn’t allowed herself to think about her daughter in a while. "She started dating a man that worked across the street. An agent of some kind. Misty loved those damn James Bond movies. He came in the coffee shop every morning. That's where they met. She got herself knocked up. Told him as much, and he left her. Turns out he was being transferred and didn't want to take her with him. He sent her money though. Misty got a regular check for the kid. Sent more on the boy's birthday every year."

"You ever meet him?"

"Hell no. He was way too good to come around here, honey."

"You know his name?"

"Nope. All she ever said was that the boy had his daddy's eyes. Looked like demon eyes to me. They used to change color with his mood. Gave me the damn heebie-jeebies, but Misty loved them."

"They live with you?"

"She used to dump him here when she set off on a tear. After she died, they asked me if I wanted to raise him." Daryl could hear the hint of sadness under all that bravado. Maybe a hint of regret too. "I couldn't do it, you know? I had already raised my girl... watched her and her daddy die too... I just could not do it again. You understand, right?"

Daryl nodded. Part of him understood that circumstance sometimes makes our choices for us. He answered with a noncommittal grunt and pressed on. "You remember her roommates' names? Any names at all from that time?"

"That was so long ago, honey… Look, I don't want to answer any more questions right now," she whined. Stood up, dropped her cigarette butt in an empty beer can and lit another one. She sashayed from the couch to Daryl and drug one long, hot pink nail across his shoulders. Daryl bolted from his chair when she leaned down and whispered in his ear, "What do you drink, sailor?"

"Daryl!" he heard from the front yard. Deloris snorted at the relief that spread across his face. Chuckled as he headed toward the door. He collected Deloris's loot from Beth, mumbling something about gettin' the hell out of there, and deposited it all just inside, hoping to make a quick escape. Deloris, however, had other ideas. She followed him onto the porch.

"You leaving so soon?"

"We have a few more stops to make, but we thank you for your time," Beth hollered sweetly from the front lawn.

"You have a card? You know, in case I think of something else," Deloris suggested, never taking her eyes from Daryl. When she stroked his bicep again, it was all Beth could do not to brave that seesaw ramp again and give Deloris West a piece of her mind. Not to mention a swift kick straight back into the house. Poor Daryl looked so uncomfortable, Beth silently prayed Deloris hadn’t done anything that might leave a scar.

"Think we got all we need," he grumbled and backed away from Deloris as if she might lung forward and eat him up.

Daryl jumped gracefully from the porch, grabbed Beth by the wrist, and headed for the car.

"How did it go with Deloris," she asked playfully, but only to cover her concern.

"Scary lady," he said as he opened the car door for her.

"Find out anything," she asked as Daryl pulled away from the curb leaving Deloris behind.

"Daughter heard voices. So did her pops. Hers started after West was born."

"Maybe she was schizophrenic," Beth postulated. "It's an inherited disorder. If that's the case, there's a good chance Gareth is schizophrenic too. It usually shows up in young adulthood, typically with a trauma or a stressor. There's usually a trigger."

"Like havin' a baby and gettin' left behind?"

"That would certainly do it," Beth agreed. "She say anythin' else?"

Daryl hesitated and shot a sideways glance at Beth. "What," she asked with a worried frown.

"Said she moved to Allentown. Hooked up with a federal agent. Got her pregnant. Told her he was being transferred and left."

Beth's face paled. Everything she had been trying so hard to deny suddenly became undeniable. "He's the father."

Daryl had his eyes on the road. " 'ats what I'm thinkin'."

"Pull over," she demanded.

"What's wrong," he asked as he slowed the car, eyes bouncing back and forth between her and the road.

"Just pull over, please," she said on a shaky whisper. Daryl pulled off to the side of the road and Beth threw open the door. She charged to the back of the car and leaned over, using the trunk for support. _"In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose_ , _out through your mouth_ ," she repeated over and over in her mind as her stomach rolled, and bile burned its way up her throat.

Daryl approached her cautiously, not exactly sure what to say or do. He had never been very good at offering comfort. Hell, he didn't reckon he had ever had much opportunity, not until Beth. This was another second chance of sorts. She needed him, and he wasn’t gonna’ let her down this time.

"Beth…" 

Her head shot up, eyes impossibly wide. "Blake is Gareth's father. What am I supposed to do with that, Daryl?" 

"I don't know yet, but we'll figure it out," he promised.

Beth ran her hand through the top of her hair and squeezed her eyes shut. She was still breathing entirely too fast. Daryl knew a thing or two about desperate situations. He had spent the better part of his youth nearly hyperventilating when no clear or reasonable escape presented itself. As much as he wanted to reach out and pull her close, it wasn’t what she needed, not in this moment at least. That would come later, and he determined he would be there.

"Hey... Beth.” He bent to catch her eyes. Steadied them both with a gentle hand on her hip. "We'll figure this out," he said again with conviction. Beth drew in a deep breath and nodded. Daryl inched closer and cradled her face in his hands. He was her touchstone, and she trusted him. If he believed they would figure this out, then so did she.

~TWD~

Sophia woke with a start and cried out against the pain radiating from her feet and legs. She had kicked, punched, bit, and screamed while he sat on top of her chest, pinning her to the floor, focusing his rage on her calves, thighs, ankles, and feet. When she thought she could take no more, he had walked away without a word, breathing heavily with his efforts. Sophia closed her eyes against the pain and let her tears flow freely. She tried to skitter away when he returned, but with nowhere to go, all she could do was make herself as small as possible. He squatted next to her and reached for her face. Shooshed her with gentle words. With tender strokes, he wiped the tears from her cheeks and smoothed her hair back from her eyes. He gave her a warm sympathetic smile before he turned his attention to her feet. She was so confused by his sudden change in demeanor, it barely registered what he had in his hand before he slid the needle between her toes, and she felt the burn from the injection. Sweet relief soon followed as she drifted into an anesthetic sleep.

How long she had been out was anybody's guess. She remembered thinking she would surely never wake up again as the numbing blackness took her under. A part of her welcomed the thought. But here she was, still alive, still trapped in this man's twisted reality with little to no hope of escape.

In the small, outer room, her captor stared at the photographs that covered the wall. There were so many women. What a horrible mission he and his team had been tasked with. He had to remind himself that his work, though thankless and done in secret, was noble and just. An agent's work was his life, a selfless undertaking for the greater good.

Each of these women had been responsible for the pain and anguish of an innocent. Their individual crimes unforgivable and punishable by death. He trusted his assignment. Knew what must be done, but a part of him always wondered what exactly these women were guilty of. His superior had warned him, should he accept this mission, his orders were never to be questioned. The files on the young women were classified. Someday he would have clearance, a reward for a job well done.

He looked at photos of the women from Pennsylvania. His first assignment had been to follow and survey them. He was to track their movements and photograph them in their day-to-day activities. He was instructed to turn the information over to Agent Adam Milliken via PO Box 142 at the university campus post office, the same box where he received the coded assignments that only he could decipher. He remembered his first meeting with Agent Milliken. What an honor it was to be recruited by such an elite organization. The agents were everywhere, blending into everyday life with such ease. A nod here, the jut of a chin there. He understood what they were saying with their silent " _'at a boy’s_ " so often exactly when he needed it most. He looked forward to the day when he would be brought into the inner circle. The day when he would be the one encouraging a new agent in his or her mission.

Six months after his first assignment, the entire operation was moved to Virginia. He was so pleased to have been asked to join them. He was again tasked with gathering Intel on a specific, few women. He had struggled a little with Michelle wondering how someone so lovely could be as evil as the report intimated. Agent Millikan had explained, however, that that was her game. She used her beauty and her charm to deceive and destroy.

The work in Greensboro had been difficult. It was hot and humid. Made the headaches so much worse. Unbearable at times. So much so, days and memories disappeared. He would wake confused, with no recollection, as to where he was or how he got there. Roanoke had been just as tough…

Now, here in Atlanta, where everyone moved at break neck speed, he faced his toughest assignment yet. Somehow this fourth woman, the one he had most recently been tracking, had set an army on the inner circle. Agent Millikan said no agents had been harmed in the attack on their secret location. A clear testament to the skill and favor of the elite men he worked for. The first woman he had photographed in Atlanta, Melissa, had been killed in the shootout. Collateral damage. Based on the information they had pulled from Melissa, Millikan was certain girl number four was the big fish. The one they had been hunting for so long now.

One of their field agents had cornered this latest suspect and an accomplice two days ago. He brought in the one, but the other eluded capture and was still on the run. The Atlanta operation had moved so quickly after Melissa was killed. He hadn't even been tasked with surveillance orders. It was pure luck, or maybe a blessing, that the two had surfaced so soon after the first was killed. Millikan promised to keep him in the loop, but in the meantime, he had a new suspect to surveil.

He ran his hand over the 8x10 he had taken of his new assignment. She was bouncing down the steps outside of her apartment building when he spotted her. In the photo, she appeared to be floating, like an angel; high set ponytail wafting behind her, toes pointed gracefully, soft smile spread across her beautiful face. She looked _sweet_ , all blue eyes and blonde hair like the rest of the women, but there was something about her. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she made him question his assignment for the first time since his work with the agency began. The longer he watched her, the more he _knew_ she was kind, full of light. A calm settled around him whenever she was near. No headaches. No voices. He loved photographing her. Even though his work was never about the beauty of his subject or the artistry in his photos, he found those things exuded from the print with her. He worried for her. Wondered what she would have to endure at the hands of his colleagues. As he trailed his fingers over her smiling face, he heard a familiar voice from somewhere deep in his mind. " _Her time is coming_ ," it whispered, and a flash of pain ran across the top of his head nearly ripping him in half.

~TWD~

Beth accessed Misty West's autopsy report from her tablet in the car. It confirmed what Beth had suspected. Misty was indeed schizophrenic. The tox report listed several antipsychotics including Clozapine, Thorazine, Asenapine, Olanzapine, and Risperidone present in her system at elevated levels, sufficient to cause death. "All of these meds are used to treat schizophrenia, just not all at the same time. Thorazine would have been prescribed for acute psychotic episodes as would Asenapine, but not together. Olanzapine is a maintenance drug. It could have been used with Risperidone for generalized anxiety. In the late eighties, early nineties, Clozapine would have only been prescribed for refractory schizophrenia."

Daryl was impressed. She was always surprising him. Not that he didn't already know, beyond any doubt, that she was smart and beautiful and tough and sweet and he could go on and on, but he trusted her and respected her more than any other person on the planet. In short, she made him happy and, much to his disbelief, he seemed to make her happy too. Damn if he wasn't completely whipped and glad to be so. Somewhere in the middle of his musings, he must have smiled, and Beth being Beth, called him on it.

"You're smiling."

"What?"

"I said, 'you're smiling'. What're you thinkin' about," she asked as she reached across the car to play with the hair hanging down over his neck.

"You," he said with a hint of pride.

"Schizophrenia makes you think of me? Not sure I'm flattered, Mr. Dixon."

Daryl cut his eyes at her. "Where'd you learn all that stuff about schizophrenia and shit?"

"Double major. Psychology and Criminal Justice."

"Hmmm. So the mom's problems were pretty severe?"

"Looks that way."

Daryl was relieved to hear Beth's voice steady and confident again. The autopsy report had given her something more to think about than Blake and his personal involvement in this case. "What exactly is it... schizophrenia," he asked, intent on keeping her focus away from her friend.

"It's a mental disorder that makes it impossible to tell the difference between what's real and what isn't. Schizophrenics experience hallucinations that are as intricate and multifaceted as real life. They aren't just isolated events either. They tend to integrate the reality they create into their real life, and it can last for years and years and years. The hallucinations are usually accompanied by paranoia or bizarre delusions. There's no cure, but medication helps. Did you see that Russell Crowe movie, ' A Beautiful Mind' ?"

Daryl shook his head and hummed.

"We can stream it. It's a true story about a professor with schizophrenia... great movie. I watched it in college. It's absolutely amazing what our minds are capable of."

"Merle had a friend with multiple personalities. Never knew who the hell you were talkin' to when he was around. That part of it?"

"Not usually, but it can happen. Multiple personality disorder isn't inherited though. Happens a lot with sustained trauma like sexual abuse or extreme physical abuse. Unfortunately, children of schizophrenics a lot of times grow up in a less than stable environment. Highly possible a person could develop both disorders. But, no, to answer your question, the two disorders aren't necessarily related."

"How'd you get so smart, girl?"

Beth flashed him a radiant smile, one he couldn't help but return in his own small way. He had no words to explain what that smile did to him, and he didn’t need any. All he knew was he was happy. For the first time since Beth left, he was really and truly bone deep happy.

They settled into a comfortable silence as familiar landscapes from Beth’s childhood summers passed by outside the window. Beth absentmindedly played with Daryl’s fingers where their hands met on the console. Her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks partly because or her surroundings and partly because of Daryl. It was so easy being with him. They made each other better. Beth couldn't wait to introduce him to her family.

"How much more we got to go," Daryl asked.

"Maybe ten minutes or so to Lock Haven."

"You gonna' call 'em? Tell 'em we're almost there?"

"Nah," she grinned. "My aunt Deanna is a big fan of surprises."

The fall foliage thickened as they moved further away from the city. Lock Haven, Pennsylvania sat tucked away beneath a canopy of red, orange, and gold.

"It's beautiful. Don’t you think it’s beautiful, Daryl? There's a deep patch of woods next to the farm. This time of year, it looks like it's on fire with all the reds and oranges and yellows. The deeper you go, the higher the elevation. That's why it was never cleared. Makes for great hiking and hunting though. I used to camp out in the tree house, which is awesome by the way, at the base of the woods. The trees looked like a giant wave when I was little. I used to pretend that the tree house was my ship and that the waves would carry me away to distant lands." She punctuated her whimsy with a giant wave of her arm.

Daryl watched her slip back in time in her mind. She looked happy. Her hands animated with excitement. "I wish we had more time," she said more to herself than to him. He looked at the clock. It was 4:30. They would have just enough time to eat dinner and visit for a few hours. He wanted her to have more. "Think we otta’ plan on comin' back tomorra'. Spend the day. We can catch a flight out on Sundy'."

Beth looked at him like he had just sprouted a second head. "We couldn't do that... Could we," she asked with impossibly wide eyes.

"Don't see why not. It's the weekend. Nothin' more we can do 'til Mondy' anyway."

Beth chewed on her lower lip, obviously tempted. "I haven't actually booked a return flight yet," she said as a mischievous grin spread across her face.

"Sundy' it is."

"Remind me to kiss you later," she cooed.

"Damn straight," he promised, voice a little deeper than usual. The look in his eyes sent a shudder down her spine. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and spreading low in her gut. Just then a familiar landmark caught her attention, and she realized just how close they were to the place she considered her second home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Daryl get cozy in the next one. Lots of Bethyl goodness coming up!   
> Thanks for reading  
> Comments are ALWAYS appreciated. Like "the wind beneath my wings" kind of appreciated!!


	12. Break Those Chains That Bind You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have discovered, in writing this chapter, that there is a VERY fine line between "too much" and "just enough" when writing intimacy (okay smut). This is my attempt!

** Chpt 12: Break Those Chains That Bind You **

"You're gonna' turn right just over this hill." 

Beth was practically bouncing in her seat as Daryl slowed the car to a respectable speed. "Right here," she pointed.

He guided the car onto a narrow road, just wide enough for a car and a half. A three-foot stone fence that appeared to be as old as time itself lined the landscape on each side. Well established ivy claimed the worn, slick stones, tumbling over the ledge in a tangled heap only to reappear as thick and green as before. Delicate white wildflowers sprang up in bunches. They danced and swayed alongside purple blooms and yellow blossoms, standing in stark rebellious contrast to the grays and taupes of the ancient stones.

They traveled at a snail’s pace for the next mile, so struck was Daryl with the unexpected beauty that surrounded them. No wonder Beth loved it here. It was wild and vibrant, deep rooted and unaffected by centuries of change. An opening in the stone fence revealed a long, paved driveway that disappeared around a curve into a thick line of ancient, broad based trees. Two lean and muscular quarter horses romped in a pasture just off the road. Three more grazed lazily deeper into the rolling green field.

"My cousin Spencer's house is down there. He's in charge of the dairy operation. They run about 300 head on 650 acres. My uncle farms the rest. He prefers the planting, always hated the dairy work. That house over there," she said pointing toward a modern, two story, plantation style home on Daryl's side of the road, "is my cousin Aiden's. He's a physician in town. No interest in farming, but he likes to fish and hike, so he bought two acres from Uncle Reg and built that house with his wife about four years ago."

"How many acres 'your uncle farm?"

"He rotates crops, so it depends on the seasonal plan, but usually he has right at 800 acres active."

"Damn. That's like 1500 acres or better."

"Yeah, it's basically a big rectangle. It's 1.2 miles from the turnoff back there to the driveway." She shifted in her seat and pointed past Daryl. "This farm runs flush with another dairy farm on that side, all the way to the Susquehanna River. Over there is a dense patch of forest that the state owns. It's a natural easement, but fifteen years or so ago, a company that builds cell phone towers tried to buy the land from the state. Uncle Reg found out and called a friend of his from the Audubon Society. They had it declared an indelible ecosystem which basically means it can't be disturbed or destroyed for any reason. Nothing short of a zombie apocalypse could impact those woods. The farm runs a little deeper on this side, but the river pretty much cuts straight across the back of the property".

It was the kind of place Daryl had never allowed himself to dream about. But here with Beth anything seemed possible. "How old's this place?"

"Well, Lock Haven was settled in the late 1700s. It was originally one of the frontier forts along the Susquehanna. My uncle's great, great, however many greats grandfather was a major in the Continental Army. He fought with George Washington at Valley Forge in, what, 1777 I think? He helped Washington chase the Red Coats out of Philadelphia and supposedly fought beside him, as in physically next to him, at Monmouth. When the Revolutionary War ended, Washington arranged for all of his officers to purchase federal land for pennies on the dollar. This is the land my uncle's great, great bought. From what I was told, it was pretty much one huge, dense forest, so he built a small house up from the river and started a timber business. Lumber was Lock Haven's bread and butter for generations. He started clearing the land from the center of the property out and used the river to transport the timber. He was pretty successful by all accounts. Once he had the homestead area cleared, he used limestone and river rock to build the house my aunt and uncle live in now."

"Hmmm," he said with the ghost of a smile.

"Yeah, apparently I'm full of useless knowledge." She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, a little embarrassed by her monologue, but she just wanted Daryl to love this place as much as she did. She knew he would when he lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

The road they were on dead ended onto a cobblestone drive that led the rest of the way to the house. Daryl pulled the car to a stop in front of a two-story Georgian style house. The stone exterior was sturdy and utilitarian. The wide and narrow symmetry, as was typical in Colonial America, exuded order and strength. Black louvered shutters trimmed five uniformed windows on the second floor and four on the first. A small front porch, just wider than the front door, was set with two slim columns, and the roof was adorned with two bricked chimneys, one on each end of the house.

A petite woman with light hair and a bright smile stepped through the front door. Beth shot out of the car and flew up the two narrow stairs into her arms. A tall, gray haired man appeared behind them and wrapped both gals in a hug. Daryl watched the family reunion over the top of the car. Tried hard not to shy away from what he didn’t really understand. Beth turned toward him and waved him to the porch, all the while bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

"I want you guys to meet my... Daryl... Daryl Dixon. Daryl meet Reg and Deanna Monroe, my favorite aunt and uncle."

"M'am," he said with a nod of his head. "Sir"

"So nice to meet you, Daryl," Deanna said and pulled him into a hug. He tapped her on the back awkwardly and Beth hid her giggle behind a cough. "You two come on in. Beth you can help me with dinner... Everyone's coming." She threw her arm over Beth's shoulders and gave her a good squeeze on the way in. "Reg, why don't you show Daryl around a bit..."

Beth and Deanna disappeared into the kitchen while Daryl got the full tour of the house and its surroundings. "That's Beth's treehouse," Mr. Monroe pointed out as they neared two huge oaks that likely rivaled the ancient limestone for original occupant status. "We started building that tree house when Beth was five. She and her mother were here visiting for a month. She immediately took over as design and construction manager," he said with an adoring smile. "It had to have three separate rooms, one for her and one for each of the boys. Each room had to have its own window too. In the center she insisted on a view of the sky. So, there I was, up in that big oak tree, trimming branches so that her view of the sky was completely unobstructed," he said proudly. He pointed between the two trees. "We built a bridge connecting the two and put a ladder on the other side there. I think she climbed this knotted rope more than she ever used that ladder."

The two men walked on toward the river in easy conversation, stopping at a tiny square cabin shaded by yet another enormous oak. "We lived here when we first got married. The big house needed a lot of work, so we spent our first two years right here," Reg said fondly. Daryl decided it looked like a place he could live in for the rest of his life. A small smile forced its way through when a vision of him and Beth settling down in a little cabin of their own flashed unbidden in his mind.

Mr. Monroe did most of the talking, sharing stories about Beth and about the history that surrounded them. Daryl found that he enjoyed listening to him talk. While he was obviously proud of his home and his heritage, he was also humbled by its beauty and resilience. He seemed to view his lot in life as a gift rather than an entitlement. Daryl didn't even mind Mr. Monroe's curious questions, mostly about his job and his home. Turns out they shared an interest in motorcycles, hunting, crossbows, and, of course, Beth.

Inside the house, Mrs. Monroe was also playing twenty questions. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Beth! Spill it!"

"Spill what," Beth asked coyly with the sweetest smile she could muster splattered across her face.

"Don't 'what' me, Elizabeth Greene. Spill!"

Beth giggled and shook her head. "Well, you know we... reconnected not long ago, when this case started. We had to fly to Scranton to follow a few leads, so here we are."

"And?"

"And, we're taking things slow."

"Aha! I knew it! You're dating."

"Don't get too excited. We just worked through what happened before. He was scared, just like you said, and he apologized for all the things he said. I told him I was sorry too... and we decided to give this thing another chance."

Beth's calm exterior did nothing to hide the hope and excitement shining in her eyes. "You really like him, don't you?"

She looked up at Deanna through her lashes. "Yeah... I really like him," she said shyly.

"He's a good man?"

"Yes, he is. He's honest and honorable. I feel safe and respected when I'm with him. He tries to protect me. He always has, but he doesn't treat me like I'm fragile."

"You're in love," her aunt said with a grin that rivaled Beth's.

Before Beth could respond, three little ones came charging into the kitchen followed closely by a tall, slender woman in her early thirties carrying a toddler on one hip. "Beth! I told Spencer I wouldn't believe it until I saw it, but here you are." She hugged Beth tightly. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," Beth said before turning her attention to the little girl. "Oh, Sasha, she's beautiful! Can I hold her..."

Dinner was wild. Two brothers, two wives, and seven kids all under the age of twelve joined them for one of the best home cooked meals Daryl had ever tasted. Dinner with Beth was one of the things he had missed most after she left for Quantico. They found themselves grabbing quick meals together through the week, but every Sunday, after Beth drug him to church, she would fix a home cooked meal for just the two of them. If Daryl had wild game, they would go to his house. If not, they would eat at her apartment. The best part about Sunday was spending the rest of the afternoon just hanging out with Beth.

Aside from the less than stealthy glances he kept getting, the family treated him like he was one of their own. He couldn't help but like 'em and, even though he didn't say too much, he found himself smiling more than once. He watched Beth bouncing Spencer and Sasha's little girl on her knee, and his heart grew a little in his chest. He wondered if maybe someday the two of them could make something like that. He figured having the shittiest dad in the world at least taught him how not to do it. Beth could help him figure out the rest.

After dinner, the women cleaned, the kids played, and the men retired to the living room. When Beth at last joined him, she sunk to the floor between his knees and laid her cheek on his thigh. Long about 10:30, Beth reluctantly announced that she and Daryl had better head back to Scranton with the promise to return in the morning.

"You’re not spending the night," Deanna asked, a bit distressed.

"We didn't bring anything with us," Beth answered woefully.

"Well, that doesn't matter. You can have something of mine to wear and I've got some of their things here that will work for Daryl," she said pointing to her sons.

Beth looked at Daryl, silently giving him permission to bail if he would rather. What she saw in his eyes warmed her heart. "Reckon we otta’ stay then," he said matter-of-factly.

Mrs. Monroe clapped her hands in front of her. "Wonderful! I'll go find something for you to sleep in and some clothes for tomorrow. Beth, you two will have to stay in the cabin tonight. I've turned Spencer's room into a sewing room and I'm afraid Aiden's room has become a sort of catch-all for all our junk. The bathroom should be fully stocked, new toothbrushes are in the cabinet, and clean sheets are on the bed. There are extra blankets if you need to make up the couch bed."

Spencer invited Daryl to meet him at the dairy barn bright and early. He promised to take him hunting on the property as soon as the morning chores were done. Daryl was more than happy to take him up on his offer. Aiden promised to join them too as they all said their goodbyes and see-you-laters.

Beth took Daryl's hand and led him out the back door toward the cabin. She stepped gingerly on her toes trying to avoid sinking her good high heels into the moist grass. "Here," Daryl said, stepping in front of her and bending low so she could hop on.

"You serious?"

"Serious piggyback. Hop on."

Beth giggled when he lifted her effortlessly and curled his arms around her knees. She felt herself trembling, excitement flooding her heart, feeling like something between them had clicked into place in the last few days, something solid and lasting. "You cold?"

"Nah, I'm good," she said and hugged herself a little tighter to him.

He kept her on his back as he opened the door and stepped inside the cabin. It was rustic and inviting and Daryl immediately felt at ease. Beth slid from his back and headed for the massive river rock fireplace. It ran from one side of the cabin to the other with two arched cutouts on either end. One stone archway opened to a small kitchen while the other opened to the bedroom. The living room had just enough space for a couch and a recliner. "The fireplace is double sided," he heard her say as she lit the gas logs. “Heats the whole cabin.” Daryl watched her, acutely aware of what Beth did to his heart.

He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, focus narrowed on Beth. The blue in his eyes darkened to a stormy gray, sending Beth's heart into overdrive. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her flush against him. Buried his other hand in her hair. "Keep each other warm," he all but growled. No truer statement Beth thought. Just being this close to him had her body heated to a boil. He kissed her slow and easy. Angled her head to better taste her mouth. Desire melded with familiarity in a slow erotic dance, and Beth lost herself in their kiss When her hands snaked around his neck and her fingers scraped through his hair, Daryl's entire body hummed with need.

"Oh!" they both registered at the same time. Beth pulled back from Daryl to find her aunt standing awkwardly in the doorway with a small stack of clothes in hand. "I'm sorry," she mouthed dramatically to Beth, as if Daryl couldn't read the silent apology as well as she could.

Beth pulled away from Daryl who looked like he might melt into the floor from embarrassment. She cleared her throat and crossed back to the door, relieving her aunt of the load. "Thank you," Beth sang and turned quickly back to Daryl. "I think these must be for you," she said and deposited the stack on the couch. "Bathroom is right there.”

"Goodnight, Daryl," Deanna called over her shoulder as Beth ushered her to the porch. He flicked his wrist at the women in a half wave, and Beth pulled the door closed.

"That was quite the kiss I walked in on," Deanna teased.

"Don't start," Beth warned with a very silly grin splattered across her face.

"I like him Beth. And he quite obviously adores you. Trust your heart on this one, okay?"

Beth tucked her arm under her aunt's and gave her a sideways hug. They walked together down the steps, and Beth said her goodnights. She could hear the shower running when she went back inside the cabin. Just the thought of him naked and wet behind that door had her insides swirling. A crazy idea popped into her head. Beth chewed on her lip wondering if she could pull it off. Deciding to go for it, she took determined strides to the bedroom and found exactly what she needed lying across the foot of the bed. She quickly changed clothes and checked her reflection in the window, experimenting with different up-do’s, before finally deciding on a messy knot at the top of her head.

When she heard the bathroom door creek, she quickly applied a coat of gloss to her lips and plopped down on the bed in her best seductive pose. She felt silly, really. She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but she figured a little spice couldn't hurt. Pulse racing, she took a deep breath to try and calm herself as she waited for him to return. Her hands slid down her front in nervous anticipation, and she patted her hair anxiously. When he didn't appear, she tip toed to the archway leading back to the living room. He was busy tossing pillows from the couch and trying to figure out how the damn couch bed pulled out. When he stepped back, grumbling at it for good measure, Beth spoke up. "The bed in here's big enough for two..."

His smartass quip died on his lips as soon as he turned and saw her. She shifted to one hip and leaned against the stone, wearing nothing more than that shy, mischievous grin of hers and his discarded button down. It draped her like a sack cloth falling nearly to her knees, but damn if she wasn't the sexiest thing he had ever seen. She had left all but the center three buttons undone and he could just see a hint of the light blue panties she wore underneath. The open neck slid to the side leaving one shoulder deliciously exposed. When she dropped her eyes and started fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, he erased the distance between them with a growl. Cradled her face in his hands and hauled her into a hungry kiss. Beth curled her fingers into his t-shirt and pressed every bit of her against every bit of him. All coherent thought ceased as he walked her backward and pinned her to the wall.

Daryl’s hands slid from behind her head. Drifted down her neck and across her shoulders, finding purchase on her wrists. He lifted her arms and stretched them taut over her head. Secured them in place with one big hand. Pressing his body hard against hers, he kissed the breath right out of her. Beth, for her part, was fighting spontaneous combustion. The trail of open mouth kisses he left along the smooth column of her neck set her on fire. She writhed and twisted as his lips nipped and nuzzled the juncture of shoulder and neck, leaving a pleasant burn in their wake from the scruff on his chin.

As his lips slipped lower, his hand left her wrists, and Beth’s fingers floated to his hair. Two big hands steadied her hips before parting ways to further explore. One inched its way up Beth’s side, thumb sweeping dangerously close to her breast. The other, in possession of needy fingers, roamed the back of her thigh from the lacy elastic of her panties to the soft backside of her knee. Beth lifted her leg and scraped the inside of her thigh against the rough denim of his jeans. Moaned when he rocked hard against her. Daryl cupped her bottom and lifted her to him. Beth grabbed his shoulders and wrapped both legs around his waist. Locked her ankles to pull her center as close to his as possible. She kissed him deeply but with less desperation as he carried her effortlessly to the bed. He laid her on her back and hovered over her, powerful muscles strung tight from holding his weight. He was struck once again by her beauty. Taken back by the desire he saw for _him,_ no less, swirling in those devastatingly blue eyes of hers.

" _Daryl_ ," she pleaded and reached for him, cupping his face and pulling him to her. He went willingly, placing agonizingly slow and tender kisses on her lips, her eyelids, and her cheek. His hand ghosted the length of her leg. Made its way back up her inner thigh and under her shirt... _his_ shirt, with just enough pressure to send her arching into him. He had never seen anything sexier than Beth lying beneath him reveling in his touch.

He laid his hand flat against her stomach and watched as the muscles tightened under his palm. When he spread his fingers wide and traveled slowly up her ribs, he looked up and caught her eyes before cupping her breast and sweeping his thumb across one pebbled nipple. Her hips bucked and her breath hitched, but her gaze never wavered.

Beth reached for the hem of his dark blue t-shirt and inched it up exposing lean, hard muscle. Daryl grabbed it at the tag and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the floor and lowering himself to her. He kissed her slowly, deeply, ardently, taking his time to taste and feel. He rolled to his back, bringing Beth with him, tucked his hands beneath his head and drank in the sight of her, breathless and beautiful. She straddled his hips and pulled the band from her hair unleashing a riot of soft curls down around her shoulders. When she leaned forward, shifting her weight against his need, he grunted and she spooked, eyes flying wide. Daryl's lips pulled up at the corners and the tension in her shoulders abated. She returned his smile with a shy but determined one of her own. Nimble fingers glided softly across his chest and down his center line to the top of his cotton sleep pants. He twitched beneath her when she circled his belly button and teased the wispy hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. She lifted her eyes and peered at him through long, heavy lashes. Daryl froze when she sat back on her heels and seemed to study him with a resolute pout. He couldn't even imagine what might be running through that big brain of hers.

When she finally spoke, her voice was husky, deeper than he remembered it ever being. "I love you, Daryl Dixon... And I'm gonna' keep lovin' you 'til the day I die."

Daryl's eyes bounced back and forth between hers. Outside of that, he remained stock still, blown away by her declaration. He opened his mouth with every intention of telling her exactly how he felt, but he couldn't find the words. Nothing he could think to say even began to describe what he felt for her.

Beth giggled softly. "You don't have to say anything... I already know."

That barely there smile that Beth was so very fond of pulled at his lips. He watched through heavily lidded eyes as she gathered her hair to one side and set to work on the buttons of her shirt. Her fingers trembled and she fumbled as the rush of adrenaline faded and the weight of what was finally happening settled between them.

"Beth," he whispered and covered her hands with his. "We don't have to do this."

"It's not that," she said on a breath. "I want this... I want this with you. I just... I wanna’ do it right. I wanna’ _please_ you, and I'm not sure..."

Daryl shot up and covered her lips with his. It was a hard, commanding kiss, meant to assure her that everything she did brought him nothing but pleasure. He pulled her with him to the head of the bed and settled her, once again, across his lap. "Ain't gotta' worry 'bout pleasin' me, Beth. Best damn thing 'ever happened to me."

She graced him with a brilliant smile and leaned in to kiss him, tasting and exploring with newly found confidence. When Daryl closed his hands over her breasts, Beth gasped realizing that somewhere along the way, he had loosed the remaining buttons on her shirt, exposing her freely to him. Open mouthed kisses to her chest and neck had her arching in his lap. He bent his knees to her back and held her securely to him as he kneaded the soft swells, tracing the juncture of pink and white with a relentless attention to detail. Beth rocked into him and threw her head back against his legs. " _Daryl_ ," she moaned as she climbed higher and higher under his touch alone. He drew her into his mouth, rolling across her nipple with his tongue, and her hands flew to his head holding him against her. When his hand slid lower and circled against her, light exploded like fireworks beneath her eyelids. Every part of her tingled as she slid past her climax and fell gloriously to the other side.

Daryl flipped her to her back, crossways on the bed, and stroked her hair, easing her back down. She chewed on her bottom lip in a failing effort to temper her smile. Nothing in her life had ever felt that good. "Beth," he began, voice rough and stilted, but stopped short when she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Daryl! I just realized... You... I mean I... ,"

"What," he said with a worried frown.

"It's just..." she hesitated. "It seems like you did all the work, and I had all the fun," she then said in a rush.

A devilish grin pulled at his lips. "I'm just gettin' started, girl."

Beth gasped and a shiver ran down her spine. Daryl hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and slid them quickly down her legs. He stood and did the same with his pajama pants and boxers. Beth thought she might pass out just at the sight of him. She swallowed hard against a dry mouth when he nudged her legs apart with his knee and slid to a stop against her slick core. He tried to go slow, reminding himself that this was her first time, that she had saved herself for the man she loves... for him, but she pulled him down to her, kissing him as fervently as he was kissing her.

He pulled back and caught her eyes. Beth shivered beneath his gaze. Neither looked away as Daryl shifted to her side gripped her knee. His hand glided slowly to her center, and she licked her lips, focusing on the dull but growing ache between her thighs. When his thumb ran the length of her folds, she bucked, and her eyes slipped closed. He held her in place with a gentle hand, palm flat against her pelvis. When he inched one finger inside, caressing her tenderly, she gasped loudly and cried out his name.

Daryl froze and raised his head to look at her. She shook her head, "Don't stop... _please._ "

He did as she asked and slipped a second finger in with the first, this time pushing into her and sending her spiraling. When she at last clenched around him, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her hard as she came in waves beneath him. She sank into the bed, boneless and panting, absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair. "Daryl," she whispered still trying to catch her breath, "what about you?"

"Don't worry 'bout me."

"Daryl," she insisted, sliding her hands from his hair to his cheeks, "I want to be with you. Now. Tonight. We're protected. I take the pill to stay regular, and you know I have to get tested every year for work, just like you. I'm negative..."

"It ain't that..."

She ran her thumb across his jawline, back and forth, so tenderly he thought his heart might break. "What is it then?”

"I don't wanna’ hurt 'ya.”

Understanding swept the confused frown from her face, and she smiled tenderly. "From what I understand," she said in all seriousness, "it takes some gettin' used to. And it does hurt the first time, but I'm ready, Daryl. You won't hurt me... and I want this... I want this with you."

He searched her eyes, hesitating only briefly before dropping his lips to hers again. He reached down between them and pressed himself forward teasing her open. Beth held tight to his biceps and spread her hips wide, arching into him when he slipped past her folds. He moved back and forth slowly, filling her a little more with each gentle push. She was so wet and so tight. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer. 

" _Beth_..."

She felt herself stretching around him as he moved, deeper and deeper with each controlled thrust. She cried out when he filled her completely and felt him shaking above her. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her intently, sweat beading across his forehead, his chest wet with his exertion. " _Beth_ ," he groaned, and she could see his control was slipping. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and he pushed hard into her, gaining speed and momentum with each thrust. Tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn't help it. She loved him, and he was inside of her, and it filled her with such joy, she couldn't help but cry. With one last surge, he let go, moaning into the crook of her neck. She felt his heart pounding against her at an unimaginable pace when he collapsed heavy on top of her. He caught his breath while she stroked his back in long, languid strides. He grunted and rolled, bringing her with him with the last bit of energy he had left. Beth continued to caress him, lightly drawing her hand back and forth across his chest. Daryl pushed her hair back from her face and held it there. A worried frown creased his brow. "You okay?"

She smiled resolutely and nodded. She felt light and tingly, bone tired from pouring herself out for him, because of him. In short, she felt way better than just okay. He took a second more to search her face worried he might see regret, but all he found was love and trust and truth. He lifted her hips, pulling her from him and tucked her into his side.

Beth curled into him, completely spent. Her eyelids grew impossibly heavy as he ran his fingers up and down her side in long, barely there strokes. Just before sleep drug her under, she felt him squeeze her hand and heard him whisper, "I love you, Beth." She didn't answer, too relaxed to form the words, but she smiled into his side, and knew he understood.

** A/N: So, that just happened! Please let me know what you think! Seriously your thoughts mean everything to me! That was just about the hardest thing I have ever written, and I've just about chewed my thumb off worrying over it! **


	13. One Night Will Remind You

"What's so funny?" Daryl sounded like he was affronted, all surly and gruff. Truth is, nothing made him happier than Beth’s laugh.

Beth had her head propped against his shoulder, both arms wrapped around his as they sat in the airport waiting to board their plane home. It was 5:30, Sunday morning, and everyone around them looked like the walking dead. Beth, on the other hand, had been giggling under her breath periodically for the last twenty minutes. She shook her head, avoiding his eyes, knowing the minute she found them, all hope was lost. Daryl nudged her with his shoulder, and she knew, without looking, that he had his head cocked staring intently at the top of her head. When she finally looked up, she blasted him with an ear-to-ear grin before breaking into yet another giggling fit.

Well Daryl had had enough. "The hell's wrong with you, girl?"

Beth swiveled in her seat to face him. "I was just picturin'," she started before closing her eyes and tipping forward in a belly laugh. Daryl rolled his eyes and tried to fight the upturn of his own lips. Beth's smile was one thing, but her laugh was something else entirely. Contagious was the only word for it. She snorted, drew in a deep breath, and blew it out through puckered lips. "I'm sorry. I was just rememberin’ the look on your face when the suction broke on the milker..." Another round of giggling and snorting overtook her while Daryl simply glared at the back of her head where it had landed, face down on his thigh. Beth peeked up at him through her lashes and tried desperately to regain her composure. "I just... I've never seen that face before... You were all 'ahhh!’ and ‘ewww!’ and and slappin' at the milk spray like a little girl and then... and then when Spencer tried to help... (more snorting)... and you jumped out of the way... (more tears and giggles) and your foot landed in the milk bucket... I'm pretty sure both my cousins learned a few new words!"

"Yeah... Yuck it up Dairy Queen," he grumbled, but the twitch in his lips gave him away. She looked so damn adorable sitting there, cheeks flushed, blue eyes shimmering with happy laugh tears. He couldn't help but reach for her, feathering his fingers through her curls. When she caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, he leaned in and pulled her closer, sealing his lips over hers in a soft, chaste but lingering kiss.

"Thank you for coming with me," she said sincerely.

"We're a team now, girl." He shrugged trying to downplay what that actually meant to him, to them. "Next time we'll stay longer. Maybe spend a night up in that tree house ya' like so much."

He watched as a glorious smile spread across her pretty face. He knew full well the implication in what he said, and he very much enjoyed seeing it sink in. "They liked you. My aunt thinks your funny and quite the looker too."

"I ain't a damn bit funny," he said with a smirk.

"Ha ha, Mr. Dixon," she said and rolled her eyes.

"I liked them too. You come from good people."

"You're 'good people' too. You know that, right?"

"I'm tryin', Beth."

She smiled tenderly. Placed a sweet kiss on his lips. Sensing a change in topic was in order, Beth asked if he had spoken to Rick lately.

"Told him we're headed home, 's all."

"I've been sending Zach and Blake vague emails. Blake no doubt suspects I know more than I'm sayin'. I think I'll call Zach later and see if he'll meet me tonight. I wanna go over everything with him before Monday."

"I'll go with ya'."

"You think you can play nice?"

**~TWD~**

"Welcome home, Princess," Agent Zachary Hines said sarcastically as he slid into the booth across from Beth. "Miss me?"

"Like a toothache."

"Where's your partner in crime?"

Beth pointed over his shoulder toward Daryl who was making his way back to the table. Zach rolled his eyes at the sight of him, but he sat up a little straighter, and dropped some of the attitude. "So, what do you want to talk to me about?"

"We've got a problem," Beth said as Daryl slid into the booth.

"And that concerns me how?"

Beth felt Daryl tense and put a hand on his knee to calm him. "Zach, quit being an ass and listen. Our perp, Gareth West? He's Blake's son."

"What?" he said, as if she might be joking.

"Look," Beth said and handed him the ID badge they had collected from Professor Morgan. "That's Gareth West."

Zach studied the photo and the striking similarities between his partner and the perp, especially apparent in the eyes. "So, they look alike. So what?"

"He was there, Zach. Blake was in Pennsylvania. He tried to clean up Gareth's first mess, at the university. He was in Allentown when Gareth's mother got pregnant."

"That doesn't mean he's his son," he said and tossed the ID badge back to Beth.

"We have evidence. Just take a look at it, and you form your own opinion."

Zach eyed the two of them, not fully believing what he was hearing. "Show me."

Beth and Daryl laid out everything they had found. Zach could see how conflicted Beth was, knowing she cared about Blake as much as he did. Although the evidence was mostly circumstantial, it was obvious that Blake was connected.

"You think he's actively involved," he asked, hurt bubbling just under the surface in his voice.

"No," Beth said. "There's no evidence to support that, but I do think he's protecting him. I think he's known from the beginning that Gareth is our guy. "

"What do we do about it?"

"Daryl's team at Violent Crimes has been running a canvas in the industrial area where the warehouse is located. They had a few hits on the black Taurus too. Now that we have a photo, we can re-canvas and see if anybody recognizes West.

Zach tapped the table with his finger and considered their options. "I'll go along with it for now. But you do not make a move without me, clear?"

**~TWD~**

Daryl and Beth climbed into Daryl's pick-up, both exhausted from the trip home and the meeting with Agent Hines. Their theory was officially out in the open, and now the game of cat and mouse was afoot. Beth dreaded the secrecy. She was a terrible liar, but somehow, she and Zach were going to have to find a way to solve this case without tipping their hand to Blake. Beth's mind was whirling. She was so lost in thought she didn't even notice when Daryl pulled the truck to a stop outside of her apartment building. She startled when he opened the passenger door.

"Come on. I'll walk you up."

Beth hopped from the truck and hung on to Daryl’s hand. They made their way toward her building with a lazy stride. At the bottom of the steps, Beth turned to face him. Took a minute to study his beautiful face.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

Daryl nodded and kissed her forehead. Beth watched him trot back to his truck to grab his overnight bag, the one he always kept tucked behind the seat. As crazy as the last few weeks had been, she felt oddly content. There is a peace that comes with being wholly and completely loved. Beth had felt the beginnings of that peace years ago when she realized that was how she loved Daryl. Knowing now that he loved her too, she felt a calm that she couldn’t fully explain and a strength that made her feel invincible. 

Upstairs, Beth told Daryl to make himself at home. Pointed him toward the shower. When he made his way back to the living room, Beth handed him a bowl of chex mix and a cold bottle of beer. Seeing Daryl relaxed in a pair of dark pajama pants and a black t-shirt set the butterflies to flight in Beth’s belly. She excused herself to grab a shower of her own and found him stretched out on the couch when she returned. As tired as he was, his body still reacted to the site of her in her little pajama shorts and loose tank, wet curls pulled over one shoulder, no make-up, smelling like lavender and springtime. He sat up with a grunt and a smolder made all the more sexy by his complete ignorance of what his eyes were capable of.

Beth crossed the room, eyes locked on his, and curled into his lap. Daryl’s fingers burned a path from her knee to her hip. Kneaded the soft swell of her bottom when Beth’s lips found his. Daryl slipped an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. Lifted her effortlessly and carried her down the hall.

Beth stayed tucked into him as he lowered them both to the bed. He ran his fingers through her hair, over and over again, letting the soft curls tangle between his fingers. Beth sighed contentedly against him as her breathing leveled out in sleep. Daryl thought back to their second night on the farm in Pennsylvania. They had spent the day exploring the land with her family. Beth played a furious game of catch up with her aunt and uncle while Daryl listened and learned, tucking away pieces of Beth's history in his heart. She was amazing. He wondered at how anyone could be near her and not love her. What she saw in a dumbass like him, he would never understand, but he wasn't fool enough to question it.

After a day spent hiking, fishing, and eating... _damn if Beth's aunt could cook_ , Beth and Daryl were both pleasantly spent. When the conversation eased and eyelids grew heavy, Daryl excused himself to the cabin and a long, hot shower giving Beth some alone time with her aunt and uncle. Beth finally made her way back to the cabin, later than she had intended, to find Daryl already asleep in the bed. With a tinge of disappointment, she grabbed her things and tiptoed to the shower.

When Beth snuck back into the bedroom, Daryl had shifted so that he was lying on his back, one hand thrown over his head. Beth watched the steady rise and fall of his chest in the soft light from the fire. Fought the urge to wake him. She had thought about last night in every quiet moment throughout the day. He loved her. He wanted her. Simple as that. And, oh how she loved and wanted him too.

He rolled to his side and reached across the empty expanse where she should be. Worry furrowed his brow, and his eyes popped open. "Beth?" he whispered, voice rough and deep with sleep.

"I'm here," she answered and slid into the bed next to him. He pulled her snuggly against him and nuzzled her neck. Beth giggled and drugged her toes slowly up and down the back of his calf. She could feel his growing need pressing against her thigh, and that host of butterflies fluttered to a frenzy.

Daryl slipped his hand beneath her sleep tank and used his thumb to trace slow circles at her hip. Her hands combed through his hair, one coming to rest against his cheek. He lifted his chin to find her eyes. His face a mix of desire and concern. She smiled sweetly, and gently tugged him to her. He went without hesitation, shifting so that he covered her petite frame completely. He kissed her thoroughly, and Beth opened up to him on a sigh. Daryl sank into her.

"You sure you're okay," he asked, voice husky and sincere.

Beth nodded. "A little sore, but I'm not complainin'."

“Maybe we should get some sleep.”

“No, sir, Mr. Dixon. You need to finish what you started,” she teased.

“That right, Ms. Greene?”

“Damn straight. I’m yours, Daryl. And you’re mine.”

Daryl took his time memorizing every soft curve, learning what made her giggle, what made her squirm, what made her sigh, and what drove her to call out his name. Beth loved out loud, the same way she lived, and Daryl thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed.

He still had a hard time believing that he could touch her like this. That she _wanted_ him to touch her like this. He realized he had loved her from the beginning. His only regret was that he hadn't recognized love before he let her walk away the first time. Outside of his brother, who meant it in his own screwed up way, and his mother who only ever said it when she was lit, no one had ever told him they loved him. No one. And he had certainly never said it to anyone before last night.

"What" he heard her say, and he realized he was staring at her, breathing her in like oxygen. It was so easy for him to lose himself in those big blue eyes of hers.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

He kissed her again and sat back on his heels, dragging her with him. Lifted her shirt over her head and went to work learning every square inch of her. When Beth felt as if she might explode with need, she reached for his face and urged his lips back to hers. "I need you...," she pleaded.

With long, slow thrusts, he drove her to the edge and back, barely maintaining control himself. When her nails scraped across his back, digging into the scars that no one but her had ever seen, whispering his name on a breath over and over again, he picked up the pace. Drove harder, deeper, and quicker, panting in her ear. She shattered into a thousand pieces, wrapping her legs and arms tight around him. With one final grunt, he called her name, and sank into her.

He slept better than he ever had with Beth in the bed next to him. He would never understand how someone so tiny could make him feel so safe, invincible really. It felt right to be curled around her. When she asked him to stay with her tonight, he hadn't given his 'yes' a second thought. He belonged with her. That much he knew for sure. He would go wherever she went and gladly do whatever she needed him to do because his heart was hers, plain and simple.

Monday morning came way too soon. Beth woke to the smell of bacon and found Daryl busy in the kitchen. She snaked her arms around his waist and leaned into his back. Daryl half spun and tossed an arm over her shoulder pulling her around to him.

"Mornin' Sunshine," he said, voice rough with disuse.

"Mornin'" she answered with a lazy smile that Daryl quickly covered with a kiss. "This is nice."

"Thought you might could use a good breakfast today."

She jumped up to set on the counter near the stove. "Thanks," she said beaming up at him.

Beth reported to Agent Blake that she was convinced that Gareth West was their guy. She explained that, oddly enough, there were no photos in any of his records, choosing not to mention the ID photo just yet. There was, however, evidence that he may have been involved with the Ketamine theft at both the university and the local vet clinics. He was familiar with Ketamine and its dosages through his work at the university. She also told him that, while he was never arrested for the disappearance of Andrea Kirkman, he was certainly linked to her and Beth believed him to be involved. "I believe she was ground zero."

Agent Blake asked very few questions. His face remained blank, but he held Beth's gaze a little longer than usual searching her eyes, contemplating something, and Beth wondered if maybe a part of him was ready to unload the burden of the truth he carried. In the end, however, he merely requested that she submit a written report along with her expense receipts and come up with a plan as to where to go from here.

Across town, Daryl and his team were busy once again canvassing the industrial district, this time with a photo their suspect. Rick caught up with Daryl at lunch. "Hey, brother. Look whose back! How was your trip?"

Daryl shrugged a noncommittal shoulder. "Good," he said and opened the door of the deli.

Rick eyed him suspiciously. "That's it?"

Daryl muttered something nonsensical and headed for the counter. They placed their orders and slid into a booth, Daryl hoping Rick might let it go. No such luck, however. Rick narrowed his eyes and studied Daryl, lips pursed in pursuit of the truth.

"What happened with Beth?"

And there it was, _damn it_. Daryl shrugged a grumbled something akin to " Iunno "

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means it's none of your damn business," Daryl said and tried to scowl, but his stupid ass upper lip twitched just enough to give him away.

Rick slammed his hands on the table. "I be damned," he all but hollered before a big shit eaten' grin spread wide across his face.

"What," Daryl barked.

"That was a smile. I saw it, and I know who put that smile there," Rick surmised, pointing at Daryl from across the table.

"The hell you talkin' about? I always smile, dumbass."

"No," Rick snorted. "No, you do not smile. You do a lot ‘a things, but smilin' ain’t one of 'em."

"Dumbass," Daryl muttered again as a cheerful little fella' dropped their sandwiches and chips on the table in front of them.

"So, you two finally figure things out?"

Daryl took a big bite out of his sandwich effectively avoiding giving an answer, but he couldn't hide what was clearly written all over his face.

"Some of a bitch!" Rick exclaimed. "You did figure it out. You’re in love with her!"

Daryl swallowed his bite and washed it down with a big swig of coke. He smirked at Rick over the top of his glass. It was all the answer his best friend needed.

"I'm happy for ya' man. You two belong together. Always have."

Daryl's phone buzzed. Thank goodness for that, (things were about to get bromantically awkward). "Hey, Babe," he said without thinking. _Damn this good mood_.

"Did you just call me _Babe_ ," Beth said with a giggle on the other end.

"That alright?"

"Only because it's you."

Daryl couldn't help the little smile that graced his face. "What's up?"

"We have a plan... I'm going down to the club district tonight with another agent, Rosita Espinoza. We're gonna canvas the district. Do a little undercover work..." Beth tried to keep her voice light and breezy as if the new plan was no big deal.

"Beth..." Daryl growled. 

"It's just a canvas, Daryl. Lots of backup."

"I'm comin' too."

"You're comin' to the club district," she said rather than asked, and Daryl could hear her smile.

"Problem?"

"No! Absolutely not," she teased. "Why don't you meet me at my place round about 8. We can head to the office together, and you can join the backup."

"Yep. See ya' then," he said.

"Later, Babe."

Daryl hung up the phone with another damn smile painted across his face.

"Beth and another lady agent are goin' to the club district tonight. Gonna' canvas with the ID photo we got. You feel like goin' dancin' ?"

"You askin' me out? You know I'm married, right?"

"Idiot," Daryl grumbled. "You comin' or not?"

"Yeah, I'm comin'."

"Good, 'll pick you up after supper..."


	14. How We Touched and Went Our Separate Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit frantic and action packed. Hope you enjoy!

**4:20 PM:**

"No answer," Daryl grumbled.

"Here, I'll call Hines. See if he knows where she is.” Two rings and one very impatient Daryl later, Hines picked up. "Yeah, It's Detective Grimes. Canvas panned out. We may have found West. Where's Beth?"

"Mandatory review,” Hines answered. “Where’s West?"

"Industrial district. Guy recognized him from the ID photo. Said he's been comin' and goin' from an old office buildin' a few blocks over from the warehouse. I'll text you the address. We're ready to breach."

"Not without me,” Hines commanded. “I'm on my way."

**5:10 PM:**

Vests on and guns at the ready, Daryl and Rick took point while Hines, Michonne, and Glenn fanned out behind them.

First floor... “ _Clear!”_

They met at the stairs and ascended military style, rotating cover and advancing.

Second floor... “ _Clear!”_

Unlike the first two floors which were open and barren, the stairs to the third floor emptied into a dim hallway. This floor was half the width of the previous two and was clearly intended to house offices or small apartments. Two closed doors with considerable space between them were visible on the left. To the right was a long structural wall with no interruption. Daryl signaled Michonne to stay put on the wall between the doors. Sent Glenn and Hines to the far door while he and Rick tackled the one nearest the stairs. With one monstrous kick from Daryl, the first door flew open sending a poof of dust swirling into the air. Daryl slipped through first, followed closely by Rick. A quick sweep revealed nothing but cobwebs and old broken desks. The dust was six inches deep. Nothing in here had been disturbed in years.

"Daryl! Rick!"

Michonne met them at the door. “We found the girl, but no sign of West.”

Guns drawn, Daryl and Rick followed Michonne down the hall. Behind the second door, they found a small four room apartment still thick with dust, but obviously in use.

“In here,” Glenn called. 

Daryl and Michonne headed toward Glenn in the back room. Agent Hines caught Rick and pulled him to another room. Glenn was kneeling next to a beaten and bruised young woman wearing a pink mini cocktail dress. Sophia. She was muttering incoherently through cracked lips, voice dry and hoarse. Her hands and feet were bound and bleeding from the ties. Her feet so swollen they were barely recognizable. Daryl dug his pocketknife out and made quick work of the ties while Michonne settled behind the girl, cradling her head in her lap.

"Ambo’s on its way," Glenn whispered.

Rick stuck his head in the door and cleared his throat. “Rest of the place is clear, but there’s something you need to see.”

Daryl pulled his eyes from the girl and turned to Rick. Rick nodded to Daryl and started to back away. The worried look on Rick’s face had Daryl’s stomach dropping… He knew that look.

"Stay with her," Daryl ordered and patted Glenn on the shoulder.

Daryl followed Rick down a short hallway and found Agent Hines in one of the two front rooms studying hundreds of photos taped and tacked to the walls. The photos were organized into four groups based on location. The first group was labeled “Pennsylvania”. Under the group heading, each row was dedicated to a beautiful young woman. Daryl recognized the women as West’s murdered victims. Surveillance photos of each woman next to photos taken throughout her captivity, and a postmortem photo of the girl’s body, dressed and laid out on display, illustrated the devastating reality of what each of these women had endured. The decline in their health and the obvious torture they had been subjected to were well documented. Daryl moved past the Pennsylvania group to the Virginia photos and then to the North Carolina photos. West was organized, deliberate, and focused. Daryl wanted five minutes alone with this sick bastard. _What these women went through_. His mind drifted to Beth, and he shivered. Damn if he wouldn't be glad when this case was done.

The final group of photos was smaller in number and incomplete, disorganized and manic. The pictures were stuck to the wall haphazardly and widely spaced as if they were hung by a completely different person. Daryl recognized the first victim from the warehouse here in Atlanta. Missy. Her captivity was well documented. There were only two surveillance photos of Sophia, both taken with her friend Amy on the night of her abduction. Several photos of Sophia’s captivity littered the floor. Daryl squatted down next to the photos. Scooted the images around on the floor before picking up the one in which she wore the same pink dress she had on now. He flipped it over…

"Michonne!"

"Yeah," she answered as she skidded to a stop next to him. His voice was urgent and commanding and it had sent her running.

"These were developed at Walgreens. Take pictures of ‘em on your phone. You and Glenn take 'em to the nearest one and see what you can find. I'll stay with the girl."

"Bureau CSU is on their way,” Hines informed them. “We'll get this place processed and put a couple of units on surveillance.”

Daryl nodded his thanks. "You talked to Beth?"

"No, but I left her a message. Those reviews take a couple of hours at least."

Daryl hummed in response, and an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. After seeing this shit, he just needed to touch her. Needed to know she was safe. He swiped at his phone and dialed her number.

Voicemail

"It’s me. We found Sophia. She’s alive. I'm gonna go with her to the hospital. Call ya' later."

**5:33 PM:**

Beth scanned her security badge and stepped into what was left of the day. Her plan was to grab food and maybe a nap and a shower before heading out to the club district. She stopped for take-out Chinese, her biggest guilty pleasure, and pointed her little red jeep toward home. It was a cool October in Atlanta, but still plenty warm enough to enjoy her dinner on the balcony. Her thoughts drifted to Daryl and their whirlwind romance. Could you even call it that, she wondered, when clearly, she had loved him for years? And he loved her too. That reality nearly took her breath away. She thought about his hands, calloused yet so incredibly gentle, especially with her. That familiar flutter stirred low in her gut. It always did when her thoughts went to Daryl. The things he could do with those hands! She giggled and shook her head.

" _Shoot!"_ she thought when she reached for her phone and realized she had left it charging in her office. Her brain had been racing, running through the details of the case and thinking ahead to the undercover work still to be done. She had been careless and now found herself paying the price for that carelessness. She needed to relax. Tonight, she had to be on her toes. West was likely on the hunt.

Beth leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and focused on the light autumn breeze. She loved her apartment. Her balcony was at the back of the complex, and it offered a muddled view through a deep patch of old, tall trees marking the edge of a neighborhood park. The trees were changing colors, each one a brilliant shade of yellow, orange, or red. It reminded her of Pennsylvania and her memories turned to Daryl and their time together in Lockhaven. The park itself was full of trails all of which circled the pond in the center at some point along the way. She liked to run the trails and hoped that maybe, when and if her life slowed down a little, she might get a dog to take running with her.

She checked her watch and realized that a nap was no longer in the cards, not if she was gonna' have to get herself all gussied up for the club district, **and** get it done before Daryl got to her apartment. She left the sliding door open like always. The breeze helped to dissipate the steam from the shower and put her hair in a more cooperative mood.

**5:35 PM:**

"There you are sweet cheeks. That sniveling idiot couldn't find his own ass without written directions. I told you I would find her," he said triumphantly to the agent sitting next to him. "Now if you'll get out of my car, I'll grab her and bring her in."

He watched as one of the central figures in his intricate delusion disappeared into the passenger seat of a nonexistent black SUV parked behind him.

"Bastard," he grumbled as he pulled into traffic behind his mark. He followed her home, stopping when she stopped, growing more and more frustrated by the interruptions. He checked his jacket pocket again and felt the syringe. 2ml Ketamine, ready to go. The familiar feel of it under his fingers set his head to pounding. "Oh no you don't," he growled as he pounded his left temple. "You stay right there, you son of a bitch. I'm in charge now. You don't have the balls to do what needs to be done. Every bit of discipline and persuasion has been at my hand. They gave up the intel to me. You understand? It's me they fear! All you and your buddy are good for is snapping pictures and picking out dresses. What a couple of pansies."

He was sweating with the effort it took to maintain sole control of the one body that so many of them shared. He rubbed his palms hard against his eyes and felt the pain giveaway. "That's right," he whispered. "I'm in charge."

He moved quickly to the rear of the building and waited in the shadows, watching. She slid the door open to her fourth-floor balcony and ate her dinner outside as she was so fond of doing. He studied her. Legs outstretched, humming along to the slow whine of music coming from her speakers. He wondered if she would go for a run tonight like she did the last time he stood watch. He hoped not. His head was pounding, and his boss was growing impatient. He wanted this done. And he wanted it done now.

Finally, she finished the last of her cheap Chinese and headed back into her tiny corner apartment, leaving her sliding glass door conveniently open. He watched as light from the bathroom flooded the narrow window over the shower. That was his cue. He mentally reviewed the apartment floor plan. He had been in her apartment one other time, just a few days ago. Milliken had requested reliable Intel before they attempted to bring her in. Apparently, she was the one they had been looking for all this time. This op led straight to the federal building, and she was the mole. He knew it the minute he saw her in the club district nosing around where he had grabbed the last girl. This was his shot at redemption, and he'd be damned if he let this one get away. He'd be damned if he would share any of the glory either. That little bastard with the camera was out of his league with this one. He could gather his own Intel and keep that little waste of breath out of his head at the same time.

He eased around the corner to the fire escape and started climbing. There was just enough of a foothold in the coining of the brick for him to slip around and grab the railing to her balcony. He eased over the side without a sound and quietly slipped through the open door.

" _Good_ ," he thought, " _she has her music on_."

He could hear her singing in the shower. That angelic voice of hers was part of her deception. It would be his distinct pleasure to shut her up for good. He stopped at the hall closet and emptied the oversized trunk he had found on his last visit. It was perfect for transporting her down the elevator to his car. A wave of adrenalin rushed through him, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The plan was coming together perfectly. It was euphoric. When he heard the shower stop, he moved quickly to the bedroom and slid behind the open door.

A cold chill shimmied the length of Beth's spine when she pulled the shower curtain back and reached for her towel. Figuring it was nothing more than nervous anticipation for tonight's op, she dried off quickly, wrapped the towel around her hair and grabbed her bra and underwear. She padded down the hallway to her bedroom and saw the tip of something blue peeking out from the corner of the bed. With a smile, she realized it was Daryl's t-shirt from last night. She shook out her hair and slipped his shirt over her head nearly jumping out of her skin when she heard the thunderous boom of her bedroom door being slammed shut.

Beth immediately spun toward the sound, crouching low into a fighting stance. A shock of black hair and yellow eyes charged forward, grabbing her around the waste and pummeling her into the dresser. A photo of her and her daddy on graduation day went careening to the floor, glass shattering on impact. The intruder flung her face down onto the bed and straddled her back, pinning her arms with his knees.

He leaned down and whispered into her hair, “I got you now, Bitch.”

Beth seized his moment of overconfidence and threw her head back as hard as she could. A loud crack and a string of curse words filled the room. Beth scrambled to the opposite side of the bed and hit the floor running. West lunged as she reached the door. Grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and jerked her back, but not before Beth could grab a small tortuous shell jewelry box, the one Daryl had given her for her birthday years ago, from the top of her chest of drawers. She brought it down with a feral scream and all her might against the side of his head. It made a nauseating thunk on contact, and West stumbled back. Beth hit him again for good measure and darted toward the door. West dove and caught her ankle, hauling her down hard, flat against the floor. She rolled and kicked her free leg with everything she had straight into his already bloodied nose. He let go, and she skittered back like a crab, hopping to her feet just shy of the closed bedroom door. When she flung it open, he launched himself at it, trapping her momentarily in the threshold. Beth groaned and twisted, breaking free as the bedroom door once again slammed closed. She ran down the hall, headed for the drawer of the end table where she stored her gun. He was fast, so fast. She could feel him behind her as her hand molded to the butt of the gun and her finger landed on the trigger. She spun and fired as his fist connected with her temple. The gun flew from her hand and slid across the hardwood as her world tilted and stars exploded behind her eyes. She slapped at him in exaggerated slow motion as he yanked her up by her hair. As she sank into darkness, Beth’s last thoughts were of Daryl and how he would never stop looking for her.

**6:55 PM:**

"Do you recognize either one of these photos?" Glenn asked a young man in his early twenties standing behind the photo counter at Walgreen's.

"Yeah, that's one of Mr. Williams' pictures."

"What about this one," Glenn followed, holding up a picture of one of the Roanoke victims.

"I don't recognize that one, and I'm the only one he trusts to process his film," he said proudly.

"Is this Mr. Williams," Michonne asked and showed the attendant the ID picture of Gareth West.

"Yeah, that's him. Why?" he asked, smile morphing into concern.

"Doesn't this photo disturb you a little," Michonne questioned, pointing to the recent picture of Sophia in the pink dress, lying on the floor beaten, bruised, and bound. "Or maybe this one," she said flashing another photo, this one of Missy during her captivity.

"Not anymore."

"What does that mean, ' _not anymore_ ,'... What, it used to bother you, but now you’re okay with a guy taking pictures of his murdered victims?”

"Whoaaaa... What do you mean 'victims'? Is that girl dead, for real" he asked voice climbing in octaves.

"Yes, genius," Glenn quipped. "That girl is, in fact, dead. Why didn't you report these pictures?"

"I didn't know they were dead. I thought they were acting! MMMMr. Williams said he was taking a photography class at the university. He said the students were taking set pictures for that TV show they're shooting here in Atlanta. You know, the same company that does that zombie show... He said it was called uh, uh something... 'Deception' maybe. I don't know. I can't remember, but he said they were actresses. I swear!"

"Alright. Just, settle down," Michonne said and helped the boy to a chair at the photo kiosk. "Take it easy."

"Listen... Jeremy," Glenn said, reading his name tag. "Is that your name?"

The boy nodded, pale faced and very nearly hyperventilating. Glenn continued with as much patients as he could muster. "I'm sorry, Jeremy, but I need to ask you some questions. Do you have an address or a phone number for Mr. Williams?"

"No, he never left one."

"Does he have any film here now to be developed or picked up?"

The boy stopped rocking back and forth in the chair and looked at Glenn, wide-eyed. "Yes... Yes, he does... I developed them this morning!"

"When is he supposed to pick them up?"

"He said he would be back in on Thursday, I think."

"You think? I need you to know, Jeremy. Is it written on his order somewhere?"

"Yes, yes, it was Thursday because he said... he said that the pictures weren't due until Friday. You know, for his class. I wrote it on the envelope, where it says due date. You can check it," Jeremy squeaked.

"Can you get those photos for me?" Jeremy seemed to be stuck to the seat, frozen in place. "Jeremy?... Look, I need those photos, sooner rather than later." The boy nodded before turning a sickly shade of green and promptly throwing up all over Glenn's shoes.

"Son of a bitch! Are you kidding me with this," Glenn yelled while backing away from the erupting vomit volcano in front of him. Michonne ignored the boy, and grabbed the box labeled with a "W" behind the counter. " _Williams, Wesley"_. She tore open the envelope and nearly dropped the stack of photos when she saw the familiar face smiling back at her.

"Glenn! Glenn, call Daryl! It's Beth!"

Michonne shot around the counter and stuck the picture under Glenn's nose. "What the..."

"Glenn!" Michonne howled and shoved the stack of photos into his chest. He instinctively grabbed at them and Michonne went for her phone.

**7:10 PM:**

With still no word from Beth, Daryl decided to shoot her a text from the hospital before heading her way. " _Leavin hospital now. Called safe house and let Amy know we found Sophia. Dr says she should be fine. Just gonna take time. See you in a few."_

He checked in with Sophia's doctor, double checked that the police guard had a photo of West and was clear on his instructions, and he and Rick started for his truck.

His phone buzzed as they exited the hospital. Michonne

"Yeah?"

"Daryl, is Beth with you?"

Every hair on the back of his neck stood up, and a nauseating wave of dread washed over him. "No, why?"

"He's been watching her. Before and after your trip. We found surveillance photos of her and another girl in a stack he had developed."

"Shit!" he swore under his breath. "Stay there in case he comes lookin’ for those pictures.”

Daryl took off across the parking lot, barely evading an oncoming SUV.

“Daryl!”

"It's Beth! He's after Beth!" 

Daryl’s blood pumped to the frantic cadence of her name. _Beth… Beth… Beth…_ as his booted feet pounded the pavement.

Daryl was already slamming the old pickup in gear when Rick slid into the passenger side. “Voicemail,” he growled. If Rick saw the tremor in his hand, he didn’t comment.

“Michonne said he has pictures of Beth and another girl. Told ‘em to stay put. Tell Hines to ping Beth’s phone.”

_Voicemail_

"Damn it!" he roared and swiped at his phone again.

Daryl rolled through a stop sign and jetted into traffic, horn blaring. Rick flicked the siren, but traffic was heavy, and they were running way too fast. He reached across the cab and snagged Daryl’s phone.

“The fuck?!”

“I’ll keep tryin’ Beth.” 

_Voicemail_

_End_

_Green Button…_

“You focus on the road. I’ll call Hines on mine.”

_Voicemail_

_End_

_Green Button…_

“Hines”

"Yeah, it’s Grimes. Michonne called. He’s been watchin’ Beth. She ain’t answerin’ her phone so me and Daryl are headed to her place now. See if you can get a location on her phone. Get with Glenn and Michonne. We got another girl ta’ find." Rick hung up before Hines could even speak. Tossed his phone onto the seat next to him. Hit the green button on Daryl’s phone again.

_Voicemail_

_End_

_Green Button…_

_Voicemail_

_End_

_Green Button..._

_Voicemail_

_End_

_Green Button_...

"Anything?"

Rick shook his head and continued his vigil. 

_Voicemail_

_End_

_Green Button..._

**7:20 PM** :

Hines coordinated surveillance at the drugstore. Sent Glenn and Michonne to find the other girl. In a couple of the photographs, she was wearing a short plaid skirt with green suspenders and a tight, white t-shirt. Glenn recognized the uniform. Fast Eddies Bar and Grill. They moved with purpose to the bar and asked the bartender if he recognized the woman. He pointed to a blond hovering near a table taking an order. When she made her way back to the bar, they flashed their badges and escorted her to an empty booth in the back.

Michonne unceremoniously shoved a picture of West across the table. "Have you seen this man before?"

"No, why? What's this about?"

Nerves frayed, the Detectives were less than gentle. "This man... He's killed at least fourteen women in four states. We have reason to believe he's set his sights on you."

"Wha...," she said, eyes darting back and forth between Glenn and Michonne. “Why?”

"I'm sorry, Ms. Frampton. I know this is out of nowhere, but your gonna' have to come with us. We need to get you into protective custody until we can catch this guy."

"You mean now," she asked, panic evident in her voice.

"Yes, m'am," Glenn answered. "Give me your address, and I'll have a unit meet us there. You can pack a bag, and we'll get you set up in a safe house."

"You’re sure you've never seen this guy? Maybe he's been in here before? You waited on him or saw him near your home?"

"I'm sorry. I don't recognize him."

"It's okay," Glenn assured her. "Don't worry. We'll explain everything on the way. You'll be safe."

**7:48 PM:**

Daryl flew up the stairs to Beth's apartment, Rick hot on his heels. Guns drawn, they slowed as they approached Beth's door. Bile burned the back of Daryl's throat when he saw it standing wide open. They breached the threshold, Daryl going left, Rick going right.

"Beth! Beth!"

Rick’s heart stuttered at the desperation in Daryl’s voice. It completely sank as he scanned the open living room and small kitchen area, squatting next to Beth's gun where it lay abandoned on the hardwood floor. Pale yellow sheers danced on the breeze from the open balcony door. Drops of fresh blood stood out against the yellow and mint green stripes of the couch. The lamp on the end table dangled upside down against it, suspended by the power cord.

"Anything," Daryl asked as he rounded the corner. Rick swiveled on his toes, still crouched next to Beth's gun.

"She got a shot off, but the only blood I see is on the couch. You?"

"Shower's still damp. There was a struggle in the bedroom. Beth's gonna' be pissed when she sees her little turtle box. Drag marks from the hall closet to the front door. Maybe a suitcase?"

Daryl was barely maintaining control. Teeter-tottering between steely detective and panicked soulmate. Each breath more ragged and shallow than the last. Rick, quite frankly, had no idea what to say to keep him calm. Daryl pursed his lips and tucked his chin against his chest. The fringe of too long bangs did nothing to hide the tremor in his lower lip.

Rick stood and parked himself toe to toe with his best friend. "We'll get her back, brother.”

Noise from the hallway had them raising their guns and eyeing the door.

"Federal Agent!"

"Apartment’s clear," Rick hollered back to the familiar voice, and Agent Hines appeared in the doorway. Daryl took a minute to gather his emotions while Rick talked to Hines about what they knew.

"I'll get a CSU team over here. We'll get any and all surveillance footage from inside and around the building. Anything near here too. Traffic cams, all of it. We'll figure out how he got her out of here and what he's driving. Oh, and the other girl, the one from the photos. Your team picked her up. She's safe. We're going to use her to get this guy and find Beth."

"Wait. What? You mean use her as bait? You can't do that. It's too dangerous," Daryl said once it registered through the thick fog in his brain just exactly what it was Hines was implying.

"She'll be well covered, Detective. Agents everywhere. When West comes for her, we'll grab him. It may be our only shot at getting Beth back."

"No," Daryl argued. "Beth wouldn't like it... Using somebody like that."

"No, she wouldn't," Hines admitted, "but it's already a done deal. The kid at Walgreens told your people West is due back Thursday to pick up the pictures. We'll keep a detail there too."

Daryl drew in a long, shaky breath. "That's three fuckin’ days.”

“I’ll call in some units and get a canvas started. Have 'em show his picture to everyone in this building. Maybe somebody saw something."

Hines nodded at Rick. “I’ll check in with my men at the warehouse. Let you know if he turns up.”

**9:18 PM:**

Daryl stood stock still surveying the living room yet again. Watched as the CSU team went over every inch in minute detail. His stomach churned as he pieced together all the possible scenarios. Unbidden mental images of Beth being overpowered, drugged, and tossed around shook him to the bone. 

"Hey. How you holdin’ up?"

Daryl sniffed and half shrugged in answer.

"I need ya’ ta keep it together, brother. We got company."

Daryl glanced over his shoulder and spun on his heel. Agent Phillip Blake filled the threshold to the apartment, eyes scanning the crime scene laid in front of him. With a primal growl, Daryl launched himself at him, driving his shoulder into Blake's chest and sending him careening through the door and across the hallway. Before Blake could even slide to the ground, Daryl was on top of him, hauling him up and pinning him to the wall, his forearm pressed hard against Blake's throat. "Where is she," he screamed, spittle bathing Blake's face. "Where the hell's Beth you piece 'a shit!"

Blake clawed at Daryl's arm, yellow eyes wide, cheeks purple from lack of oxygen. Rick and Hines pulled at Daryl’s arms and shoulders to no avail. "You fuckin’ tell me where she is! Right now!"

"Daryl! He can't tell you anything if he can't breathe! Let go, brother!"

A deep, frustrated growl rumbled from Darryl's chest, and he finally pulled back. Threw Blake to the floor for good measure. Rick stepped between Daryl and the slumped agent. Daryl rocked back and forth on his toes, weaving like a snake ready to strike. Rick knew his friend well enough to know round two was inevitable.

Daryl pointed at Agent Hines where he stood in the doorway. "I want him in custody! Ya' hear me? Arrest him for his own protection if ya have to 'cause I promise you, anything happens to Beth, and his ass is mine!"

Blake coughed and sputtered and slowly started to stand. "I don't know where she is, Detective," he said, voice hoarse and strained. "If I did, I would tell you. I care about her too."

Daryl shot forward, but Rick was ready. He pushed at Daryl’s chest, holding him at bay as best he could. One step forward. Two steps back.

"Bull shit,” Daryl roared! “You don't care about Beth! You don’t care about any ‘a them girls! If you did, you would 'a come clean a long time ago!"

"Come clean with what exactly? What does it matter that he's my son? I haven't seen him in twenty years..."

"You fuckin’ kiddin’ me? You coulda’ stopped this before it ever started! You went to Pennsylvania. You covered up his mess instead 'a helpin' to catch him. All those dead girls are on you! Just as sure as if you'd killed 'em yourself!" Daryl's chest was heaving, and his hands were flying about wildly. Rick could feel him shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"You can stand there and judge me if it makes you feel better, but the only thing I'm guilty of is trying to protect my son."

"At what cost, you selfish fuck!"

The break in Daryl’s voice had Hines moving. He took Blake by the arm and nodded at Rick.

"Let me know when you find her, Detective. I never meant for this to happen. Beth is my friend too."

"Son of a..." Daryl plowed past Rick and landed a right hook square across Blake's jaw. He went down like a box of rocks, landing hard on the floor. Rick did his best to shove Daryl away before he could do anymore damage. “You don’t so much as fuckin’ whisper her name. You hear me?” Daryl spat on the floor next to Blake, fists pumping at his sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew... poor Daryl. He is absolutely beside himself.   
> Please let me know if you are still reading. I know this story isn't for everyone.  
> Appreciate any and all comments!


	15. If He Ever Hurts You, True Love Won't Desert You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this one is a little tough  
> Trigger Warning: Kidnapping and Violence

The harder she tried to focus, the more the world around her spun. Swallowing bile, she shut her eyes and waited for the wave of nausea to pass. She was on her side, knees at her chest, curled up in a little ball. Her focus narrowed to the pounding cadence of her pulse. She could feel every beat in the throbbing from the giant wallop on the side of her face. As she reached to run a ginger finger over her temple, she realized her wrists were tightly bound with what felt like duct tape. Same with her ankles. She rolled to her back and tried to stretch, but the walls were close on every side. The claustrophobia was the tipping point. Panic seeped its way into every inch of her tiny frame. Beth closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Calm… she had to stay calm and figure out what the hell to do next.

The familiar smell of lavender and vanilla filled her nose. Like the little sachets she kept in her closets and in her drawers. It was familiar and soothing. There was another scent mixed in there too. It was faint, but it was there.

_Daryl._

He was all around her. She remembered seeing his t-shirt peeking out from under her bed. Recalled slipping it on right before her bedroom door had slammed shut and this nightmare had begun. She tucked her chin to her chest and let his scent fill her nose. It was something she could tether herself to. Another deep breath.

Beth kicked at the ceiling. The lid? It rattled, but it wouldn’t lift.

_A crate or a trunk._

She slid her banded fingers against the velvet lining. 

_Granny Ruth’s trunk. That’s how he got me out._

The muffled rev of an engine pierced the quiet and Beth was thrown back against the side of the trunk. Then the slamming of the breaks had her flying in the opposite direction. She could hear shouting from inside the car.

"I’m sick of your whimpering! Just - go – away! Son of a bitch! You make me so damn mad," he screamed. "This is your fault, you little bastard! They must have seen you or your good for nothing, pansy ass, camera toting little buddy! She must have known you were watching her. I am not going down for this shit. You hear me? I will get rid of you just like I got rid of him. Don’t think I won’t. If Milliken wants somebody's ass for this, he can have yours, not mine!"

The engine revved again, and they were off. 

_Beth! Get busy, girl. Can’t do nothin’ with them hands tied together._

_Daryl_

Beth wasted no time in setting to work on the duct tape around her wrists. She bit, chewed, pulled, tugged, and accidentally bit her lip in the process. Multiple layers of tape made the task nearly impossible, but Beth refused to quit. Desperate tears trickled down her face stinging at the fresh cut on her lip.

The car jerked to the right, fish tailed in loose gravel, and skidded to a stop. The sudden change in trajectory sent the trunk hurdling forward against the seats. Beth’s head hit the inside of the trunk, and it had her seeing stars yet again.

A car door opened and slammed shut.

_Keep it together, girl._

_Don’t leave me, Daryl. Tell me what to do._

_You’re doin’ fine. Keep workin’ on that tape. Play dead when he comes back._

The trunk jerked, flinging Beth in the opposite direction. She knocked about inside as he hoisted her cage out of the car letting it drop hard against the ground. Beth had just enough time to tuck her hands beneath her, close her eyes, and sink into what she hoped appeared to be unconsciousness before the lid flew open and fresh air filled in the space around her. He shoved his arms under hers and wrapped them around her chest. Hauled her up and over the side of the trunk, nearly squeezing the life out of her in the process. Her bare legs and feet scraped against the edge of the trunk and dropped limply to the gravel. It was all Beth could do not to cry out at the teeth rattling jolt.

He dragged her across the gravel and dropped her in a patch of grass. With her back to him, Beth had dared to crack her eyelids open ever so slightly. The area around her was thick with trees, deserted, and dark. When they reached the grass, Beth heard the squeak of a screen door before she felt herself being lifted and slung over his shoulder. She watched as the heels of two worn out sneakers ascended three narrow and rusting metal steps. Worn indoor – outdoor carpet entered her line of sight and the smell of mold and mildew accosted her nose. Next she knew, she was being tossed effortlessly onto a thin, lumpy mattress. She lay perfectly still, head too heavy to lift, and waited for the nausea to pass.

_Breathe, Beth. Come on, girl. You got this._

_It hurts so bad, Daryl. My head feels like its gonna split in half._

_I know it hurts. But you’re tough. Strongest damn person I know. I’m here. We’re gonna get you through this._

Beneath the veil of hair sweeping across her face, Beth cracked one eye open. She was in a camper, as far from the front door as she could be. West was pacing up and down the short, narrow hallway slamming his fists against his temples, still raging at a non-existent foe. He stopped suddenly and pulled to his full height, stock still. Beth held her breath, bracing for the worst, but it didn't come. Instead, she heard the front door slam, and a car engine roar to life just outside the camper. She rolled to her back and listened. Pointedly ignored another wave of nausea that accompanied even the slightest of movements.

The car sped away, throwing dirt and gravel against the side of the camper. Beth slid from the bed and landed hard on her knees and the sides of her bound hands. The pain radiated from her wrists to her elbows.

_Find somethin’ to cut that duct tape. Hurry up, girl._

She inched her way as quickly as she could down the hall to the small kitchen area. There were two drawers, one on each side of a tiny sink. In the second drawer, she found a single steak knife and set to work on the duct tape around her ankles. Her wrists were harder to free, but she balanced the knife between her feet and slid it under the tape. She moved as quickly as she could, stabbing her hand twice in her frantic haste, but she barely noticed. At last, the duct tape split, freeing her wrists.

_Run, Beth!_

Beth threw open the front door and took off for the woods, bare feet sinking and sloshing through the mud and muck of the forest floor. She bounded over a fallen log and took refuge behind it to catch her breath.

_Look around, Beth. The signs are all there. Just gotta know how ta read ‘em._

Beneath the light from the moon, Beth could see a change in the landscape.

_What do ya’ see, Beth? Read the signs._

Beth squinted as much against the dark as the pounding in her head. In the distance, the trees appeared to thin and separate. Beth could just make out the semblance of a road or what may have been a road at one time. She decided to follow it. Stick close to the edge of the woods for cover. She moved as quickly as her bare feet would carry her. Traveling over uneven ground on legs that felt like lead. Every step requiring more effort than the last. She swallowed hard against the nausea. Blinked against the blur in her vision.

 _That’s it, Beth._ _You got this, girl._

She stumbled over a root and hit the ground hard. Deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

_Get up, girl. We gotta’ go._

Beth pulled herself to her knees and waited for the dizziness to pass. Pulled the neck of her t-shirt over her face and soaked up the sweat streaming into her eyes. Daryl’s scent enveloped her. Triggered a memory. Their plan. He was supposed to meet her at her place for the op. He would have been there by now which meant he knew she had been taken. Beth found her strength in knowing that Daryl was looking for her. That he would never stop looking for her. With renewed energy, she picked herself up off the forest floor and took off.

She had been traveling for twenty minutes or more down a dirt road that seemed to have no end, when her feet finally hit concrete. She had two choices. Right or left. And absolutely no way of knowing what lie in either direction.

_Stay in the tree line. You’re too exposed out here._

Beth turned back toward the evergreens. Decided to go right. She was two steps from the tree line, when a car appeared from around the curve. Caught in the headlights, Beth froze.

 _It can't be him. Please, please..._

_Run, Beth! Fuckin’ run like hell!_

The car sped in her direction coming to a screeching halt as Beth dove into the woods. She ran through the high grass and thin brush aiming for a thicket of tall trees when, _WOOSH_! Her breath flew from her chest, and her head slammed against a rock. She immediately saw stars and rolled to her side, vomiting what little was left in her stomach. She was barely conscious when he hauled her up by her hair and drug her to the trunk of his car. The last thing she saw was manic, yellow eyes before he slammed his head hard into hers sending Beth careening into darkness yet again.

**~TWD~**

Daryl hung up the phone, worry and shame clouding his face.

"That Chief Greene?”

Daryl's finger picked at his thumb. A nervous habit Rick recognized. Daryl really wanted a smoke, but it had been years since he had lit one. That was another one of Beth's doings. She had helped him quit. _Made_ him quit, truth be told, early on in their friendship. She had made him pinky promise, much to his chagrin, to never start up again. He had done it, of course. Put down his smokes willingly. Was better for it. But, damn, what he wouldn't give for a whole pack right about now.

"Yeah. I called him."

"How'd it go?"

"He's gonna' meet us at the federal building. Wants to look at everything himself."

"I'll call Hines. We can head that way."

Daryl nodded and took one more look around Beth's apartment. He refused to grieve. She wasn't dead, just... gone.

Rick squeezed Daryl’s shoulder on his way to the door.

“We’ll ger her back, brother.”

_Hold on, Beth. I'm comin', babe._

**~TWD~**

When Beth came to, she knew she was in more trouble than before. Pain cut through the fog as she attempted to push off the cold concrete. Bright fluorescent lights accosted her retinas, and she collapsed back down on her elbows. The taste of iron and vomit had saliva pooling in her mouth. She swallowed against a dry throat, coughing from the burn, head nearly bursting with the effort. Her ankles and wrists were again tightly bound with duct tape. This time, however, a chain had been wrapped around the duct tape binding her wrists, and locked to a metal ring mounted to the wall. Beth recognized her prison immediately. She was in the warehouse where this whole thing began.

She flinched when West materialized from the shadows.

"Good. You're awake," he said sardonically and squatted down in front of her. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

Beth leaned away from him, from the evil behind his eyes.

"Not in the mood to talk? I left word with Milliken. Told him I have you. It usually takes a few days before I get my orders, but I'm betting he shows up pretty quick this time. He's got quite the boner for you, sweet cheeks. I can see why."

Beth watched him through blurred vision. Tried to form a quick profile knowing it might be her only chance at survival. Drawing on her theory that West was likely schizophrenic, she assumed Milliken was a figment of his hallucination. She would have to be very careful not to fall down that rabbit hole. The man in front of her was rough and sarcastic. Enjoyed making her flinch. Would likely enjoy making her scream even more. Based on what she and Daryl had learned about West, the man she was dealing with right now was not the primary personality. This was not Gareth. By all accounts, Gareth was soft spoken and meek. The kind of guy you probably wouldn't notice in a crowd. The man in front of her was loud and animated. You would definitely notice him, if only to make sure and stay clear of him.

"Hey!" He snapped his fingers in front of her nose. "Pay attention."

Beth blinked and tried to follow his train of thought.

"So?"

She shook her head, not understanding what he was asking.

"I said, ‘what’s your part in all this?’ What did you do to make the list?"

"The list," she squeaked, voice rough and painful.

"Are you stupid? What - did - you - do - to make the list," he spit, frustration mounting.

"I don't know," she said in earnest.

A slow satisfied smile slid across his face. "Wrong answer, bitch."

He stood feet spread wide, arms crossed, and raked his eyes over Beth. Reached for his back pocket and pulled out a huge, serrated blade. Spun it in his hand menacingly. Without warning, he lunged at Beth and grabbed her bound ankles. Yanked her flat to the floor. Beth screamed despite herself, eyes wide in horror. He swung his leg over the top of her and landed painfully on her knees. His back filled her vision as she sat up and beat her fists against him. He leaned forward and drug the edge of the blade slowly across the ball of her foot carving a deep, ragged furrow into the thick, sensitive flesh. She gasped, but the air seemed to stick in her throat. She couldn't breathe and she couldn't scream. Rigid with shock, she started to shake. As quickly as he had pinned her to the concrete, he was up and cleaning the blade on his jeans. Beth watched in horror as blood pooled around her feet, painting the concrete floor scarlet.

He fell to his knees in front of her, the blade clattering to the ground, and grabbed his head in obvious agony. He growled and clawed at the floor as if he were fighting his way out of quicksand, hissing through his teeth, drool falling from his lips. Just as suddenly, he quieted, collapsing on his back. Beth pulled her knees to her chest, lightheaded and terrified at what might be coming next.

He lay perfectly still except for the tick and twitch of his hand. The languid rise and fall of his chest gave the illusion of peaceful sleep.

_Grab the knife, Beth. You can do it._

Beth held her breath as she scooted closer to the knife. The thought that this might be a cruel trick weaved in and out of her brain. Squeezed her heart painfully. The chain rattled as she reached for the hilt with trembling hands. West stirred and Beth dove for the knife slipping in her own blood in the process. He flopped to his side and landed on the knife. Beth scurried back toward the wall empty handed.

_I’m sorry, Daryl. I’m sorry._

West drug himself to his knees and sat back on his heels. Blinked against the fluorescent lighting. His eyes darted around the room before landing on Beth. He seemed sad. Disappointed, maybe? Beth immediately knew the cruel man from before was gone. 

"What did he do," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

“I’ll be right back, sweet girl. My bag is in the car. We’ll get that foot taken care of.”

He pocketed the knife and hurried out of the room.

Beth made a mental list:

  1. Millikan: part of the hallucination / hands down the orders
  2. The Aggressor: cruel and quick tempered
  3. The Photographer: gone for good, according to the aggressor.



He returned a few minutes later carrying a stack of shop towels and a first aid kit.

"Let me see," he said and gently pulled Beth’s feet into his lap. He inspected her foot and turned compassionate eyes on hers. "I'll try to be easy, but it's got to be cleaned and bandaged. You hang in there, okay?"

Beth felt herself nod in response. He scrubbed the wound with antiseptic and Beth bit down on her lip to stifle her wince.

"I'm sorry," he said and blew on the wound to cool it. It was surreal, watching him tend to her foot with empathy and kindness. "You're going to need stitches sweet girl. I'm so sorry."

Beth focused on his face and tried to get a handle on what this personality was all about.

  1. Caregiver: kind and sympathetic. Female, maybe?
  2. Gareth West: primary personality / no show, so far



"Be brave, angel. I put some numbing cream on it, but I'm afraid it's still going to hurt when I go to stitch it."

He laid his needle holders, his suture and his bandaging material neatly on top of one of the shop towels and looked at Beth again. Patted her knee kindly.

"You ready?"

_Be brave, sweetheart._

When he finished suturing the wound, he bandaged it neatly and sat back on his heels.

"I don't have any pain medicine. I'm sorry."

Beth shook her head and swiped at the quiet tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Thank you."

"Oh, you're welcome, sweet girl. I'm going to get you something to drink."

He returned this time with a bucket of water in one hand and a drink in the other. He opened a can of Sprite and handed it to Beth. Beth took a sip and felt the burn as it trailed down her throat and into her chest. The man in front of her hummed under his breath while he cleaned up the mess of blood and supplies. It was surreal watching the same man that spilled her blood now stooped over and cleaning it up.

"You're not Gareth, are you?"

"Oh, heavens no," he chuckled. "That boy would have passed out at the first site of this mess."

"What's your name," Beth asked cautiously.

He smiled sweetly. "Names don't really matter too much now, do they? But you can call me Nana. That's what my boy calls me."

"You mean Gareth?"

Nana smiled affectionately. "How do you know him?"

"I... I don't really. I just know of him." Beth ventured way out on a limb, praying her hunch would not lead to more trouble. "He was kind to an acquaintance of mine... Andrea Kirkman. She spoke very highly of him... Do you know her?"

Nana sighed deeply and paused in her work. "Andrea Kirkman," she repeated regretfully. "Yes, I know her. Knew her, I guess. That poor girl is the reason for this whole mess. Nearly broke my boy's heart in half."

"Gareth helped her with her math. That’s how they met. In college."

"Yes, Gareth is excellent with figures and computers. My boy is smart, so smart, but he has a little trouble with people, you know? He's shy… quiet, but he's a good boy."

Beth surmised that Nana was definitely a female personality. A grandmother figure of sorts. And, she clearly cared about Gareth.

"You've been with Gareth always? From the start?"

"Yes, sweet girl. I've been with Gareth his entire life. Raised him the best I could under the circumstances."

"I'm sure you did," Beth agreed sincerely.

Nana’s sad smile tugged at Beth’s heart. She prayed she hadn’t misjudged Nana’s willingness to share and pressed further.

"How long have the others been with Gareth?"

"Others," Nana asked, although Beth was certain by the inflection in her voice, Nana knew exactly what she meant.

"Yes. Like the one that did this to me," Beth said patiently.

"Oh, you mean Gorman. He's been coming around for a couple of years or more. He's got a temper, that one. It's good that I'm here to clean up the messes."

"How many are there, Nana?"

Nana took a deep breath and shook her head. "You have to stop asking questions now, sweet girl. I can't lose my boy. It scares me. Noah, he's already gone. Gone for good, I'm afraid. I liked him too. He took beautiful photographs. I’m so thankful he never knew what they did with his beautiful pictures. I hate what they do, mostly because it keeps Gareth so stirred up." 

Nana stared at nothing in particular, lost in her own thoughts. Beth barely dared to breath.

"Lerner showed up around the same time as Gorman. Right after my boy lost Andrea. Lerner thought Noah ought to stay. Told Gorman they could keep using him, but Gorman wasn’t having it. Said Noah had served his purpose. Said he was a waste of space. Gorman lets Lerner think she’s in charge, but I can see she’s scared of him. He can see it too. He’s evil. Uses my boy. They both do. They tell him he owes them. Tell him he couldn’t survive in this crazy world without them. I tell him it isn’t true. He’s kind and smart, and I know he’s strong. He just doesn’t see his own strength.”

Nana fiddled with her medical supplies, lost in her own thoughts.

Beth went back through her list:

  1. Millikan: Hallucination
  2. Gorman: The Aggressor
  3. Noah: The Photographer / Gone for good?
  4. Nana: The Caregiver / Female / Protector
  5. Lerner: In Charge? / Female
  6. Gareth: Primary / No Show



Nana swiped at an errant tear and turned her attention to Beth. "They don’t know I can see them. Don’t know I can hear them. Gorman wants to get rid of my boy just like he did Noah. I won’t let that happen."

Sweat rolled down Nana's face even though the room was cool. Beth could see the change coming. It was horrifying yet fascinating, like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

"Don't make him mad, sweet girl.”

Nana panted with the effort those last words cost her. She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands hard into her temples. Fell forward, gagging and retching, but he didn’t faint. Not this time. The transition from one personality to the next was smoother. Nana didn’t fight it the way Gorman had. It was the stuff of science fiction movies.

The new personality that emerged looked at Beth in shock. He was scared, eyes wide in confusion. Those eyes landed on her, and she watched as confusion gave way to recognition.

"Andrea?"

Beth froze, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water until her addled brain could catch up.

"Gareth?"

Joy and something akin to awe flooded his face. "You know my name... It's really you… Finally, after all this time..."

Tears welled in his eyes, falling freely down his cheeks as he tentatively reached for Beth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh sweet Beth! Hang in there, girl. Keep your wits about you. Daryl is on his way!


End file.
